Diamond Cut Diamond
by Witchy Pixie
Summary: Arya and Murtagh are more similar than either would admit. Both have been hardened by a life that has treated them less than well. Everyone knows it takes a diamond to cut a diamond. AxM, post-final battle.
1. Detachment

Diamond Cut Diamond

Chapter One: Detachment

The War was over.

In Arya's mind, it was always capitalized, not simply a conflict of forces, but something she had given her entire life to.

And now it was over.

Besides the obvious relief, Arya felt a sense of numbness. A sense of being detached, floating on the edges of reality.

"_I have given my life to the effort. Even before the war, I worked for the resistance for so many years. It is over, and it leaves me with nowhere to go," _she thought, as she strode through the streets of Uru'baen.

And that was really that was the root of it. The life Arya had to go back to was one that seemed eons away. Home, Ellesmera, was her logical choice. She could return, and perhaps even rule if, in a century or two, her mother died or grew weary of her station.

"_Not likely_," mused Arya, wryly.

What it came down to, was that Arya had no purpose. There was no where she was truly needed (_wanted._) And as she trudged through the city streets, in search of one of Galbatorix's magicians that had slipped away before his trial, she ordered herself to put her mind to the future. This was something she had only allowed small doses of in the past, looking too far ahead could cause one to lose hope. And that was dangerous.

Arya cast out her mind again, attempting to find the magic-user. He couldn't escape for too long…

Instead, Arya touched a mind that was familiar, if only because she had been engaged in combat with it.

"_What's he doing out here? Has Morzansson got a deathwish?_" she mused. "_I wouldn't blame him. And it would certainly make life easier for those of us who have to deal with him,_" she answered herself.

Arya, against her better judgment, followed her tendril of thought, and reached an alley way where a man in a cloak was walking fast enough that you didn't get a good look at him, and slow enough that it didn't looked as if he was running away.

Arya touched his mind and was predictably met with barriers that put Uru'baen's defense system to shame.

"_Calm yourself,_" she said, "_I merely wish to ask you what you are doing."_

A wisp of thought made its way through Murtagh's mental fortress.

"_And what business is it of yours, elf?_"

"_It is my business because I am one of those who looks after the safety of this city_," she replied.

"_And I am a threat? I was cleared, elf, of every charge. I am free, so long as I cause no trouble. I am no more a danger than you."_

"_There is no need to become defensive." _Arya was slightly annoyed now.

"_Of course not! No, I should simply accept the fact that you have decided I am a menace."_

"_You cannot deny you are dangerous."_

"_As are you, elf."_

"_Why are you here?"_

Profound annoyance emanated from Murtagh's mind. He paused a moment before replying.

"_I'm looking for someone."_

Arya could live with that. Practically everyone was looking for someone they hoped had made it through.

"_That's good. I'll be on my way," _she responded.

"_Good. Now that you ensured the safety of the city from the _Devil's Spawn," The thoughts were tinged with bitterness.

Arya broke the mental contact and walked straight on without turning her head to look at the cloaked figure who had paused by the wall to converse with her. She could feel his glare as she passed by.

"_Why on earth did I do that?" _she asked. "_It was idiotic. There was no conceivable reason. Why? Why did I challenge him?"_

The answer came, and Arya was slightly unsettled by it.

She had been curious. Here was someone completely mysterious to her, but was also, by some strange twist of fate, in much the same situation as herself. The detachment. He had nothing to go back to. And Arya had been curious as to his plans. Perhaps simply to get an idea of to follow. Something to go by, at least.

The elf shook herself. "_And look how that worked out. It's better to give people their privacy. You know that."_

She cast her mind out again, and resumed her search for the magician.

A few hours later, Arya sat in one of the castle's gardens. There were surprisingly large amount of them. The king's castle was perplexingly pleasant, decorated in taste that was, if not to Arya's elven standards, highly decent. The gardens were well-maintained, and the secluded courtyard Arya now inhabited had several lavender plants that filled the air with a calming aroma and an artificial waterfall that that babbled busily.

The entire Varden was lodging in the castle. Eragon had found it highly disconcerting, and Arya remembered his look of consternation. It was only natural for Eragon to have qualms about living in the castle from which his greatest foe had ruled. Arya didn't like it, but she was less disturbed by it.

"_Of course Eragon minds more than you. He's the one who actually has morals, "_said the ever-present, accusatory voice in her mind. "_You, the cold, hard elf who can't even love, wouldn't care. Of course not."_

Arya took some deep breaths of the lavender and attempted to calm herself. She was hardened, there was no denying it. Her life had made her that way. But she had done much good, and as little evil as she could.

It took a while, but as usual, the elf calmed her mind. It was a practiced art, which, she reflected, ought to disturb her. Arya sighed. The man she had finally captured (it had been only a moderate challenge) had been devastated. He had looked at her as if she was Death, and Arya had not even paused before sending him into a merciful sleep.

"_I am not his executioner,_" she reflected. "_We will give him a fair trial, and make our decision from there. That's all we can do._"

Arya shook herself. She was being ridiculously emotional. "_It's lack of things to concentrate on,_" she decided. "_I had better find a direction to take my life in, and soon."_

**I am actually writing a serious, multi-chaptered story. Stop the presses.**

**Title may be hard to understand…let me know about that angle. **

**Arya/Murtagh is one of those things that manages to both have potential and be totally improbable. It's a neglected ship so I thought I'd try my hand. I fail at writing romance. Hopefully E2189 will help me… I can haz feedback plz? **


	2. Words Exchanged

Diamond Cut Diamond

Chapter two: Words Exchanged

"_Where are you?_" Murtagh scanned the alleyway. The houses looked mostly deserted. Still, he was trusting the word he'd gotten from the frightened stable-boy. It was all he had to go by, and it seemed probable.

He picked the door that was the least dilapidated and knocked.

It took a few moments, but an old woman opened it. The look of fright on her face made Murtagh wince inwardly. A rush of anger flowed through him, but he remained focused.

"Is Targon in? I was told he lives here."

The woman nodded. "Come in?" she asked, her voice soft with age.

Murtagh followed her through the house which, while shabby on the outside, had a decent exterior. In what appeared to be the parlor, and man sat reading an ornate book. Murtagh smiled. He knew that book.

The man looked up, and frowned. He spent a good minute looking directly into Murtagh's eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked.

"You are Targon?" Murtagh said.

"Yes."

"Tornac was your son?"

"Yes," said Targon, looking more inquisitive.

"Do you want to know how he died?"

Targon looked taken aback. The woman (presumably his wife) gasped.

"Yes…" said Targon softly. "Yes, I would."

Because of course, he wouldn't have had a real explanation. Murtagh knew that. If anything, he'd been told his son had been a traitor, and that had been all.

"I…knew Tornac. We were good friends, over the years. He taught me how to fight."

—_Training, laughing when either of them got through an easy blow, the determination to best his teacher—_

Murtagh shut the memories out easily.

"When I turned eighteen, the king asked me to join him in rebuilding the riders. His theory was so beautiful, I pledged myself to him. Only a few months later did I see the true king, the one who was ordering full villages to be killed. That was when I decided to escape…and Tornac wanted to come with me."

—_Your fault for telling him, he wouldn't have come unless—_

"He had always seen through the king—he was wiser than I. We were in the process of escape when we were attacked…I tried to save him but he was shot by one of the archers. I made it out, and the rest of the tale is known by most."

"_And now we see whether he attacks me,_" thought Murtagh grimly.

"Why did he choose to go with you?" asked Targon.

"_Just like his son, straight to the point_," Murtagh chuckled, inwardly.

"He hated it at the palace as much as I did…hated the king. He had often thought of escape but when I came back from the throne room, shouting about the women and children he was ordering to be killed, his determination grew. It took us awhile to come up with a decent escape plan, but it would have worked had not the schedule for the guards changed. It was pure bad luck."

"_But you don't believe in luck or fate." _And Murtagh didn't. It would have been easier if he had.

"But why with you?" Targon's look was penetrating.

"_What's he looking for?_" wondered Murtagh.

"We were friends," he said simply. "I suppose we thought we might have a chance together."

He did not mention the fever he had seen light in Tornac's eyes when he has said it, said surprisingly calmly "_I am leaving_."

Murtagh turned, hearing a sound behind him. Targon's wife was crying. Guilt suffused him.

Silence fell, and Murtagh was not one to break it. He turned, ready to walk out.

"Do you recognize this book?"

"_Lore of the Sorcerer_," said Murtagh, smiling. He and Tornac had stolen quite a few books, either smuggled form the castle "public" library out to Targon, or from the king's private library for their own use and careful return.

"You helped him take it," said Targon. It was not a question. "I remember when he gave it to me."

Murtagh nodded, whether in answer or sympathy he wasn't sure.

Targon stood.

"Thank you for coming," he said.

His wife nodded, through her tears, and Murtagh turned and walked through the hallway and out the door, breaking free from the stifling air inside the house.

He walked quickly, heading back to the castle. As if on cue, Thorn spoke.

"_You'd better get back_."

"_I know, Thorn. They get nervous when I'm loose on the streets."_

Thorn's dislike of Murtagh's bitter tone seeped through the mental link, and Murtagh attempted to suppress his anger. Thorn ought to have been used to his caustic attitude by now, but every time his rider was angry or bitter, Thorn's reproach was easy to see. It had originally annoyed Murtagh, now he lived with it.

It was because of Eragon that Murtagh remained at the castle. Otherwise, he would have been gone, he wasn't sure where. But Eragon had asked him to remain "until things calm down," and Murtagh had seen no reason to refuse.

He hated the castle, and groused about it every day to Thorn, but the truth of the matter was that he was glad Eragon was keeping him there. If he was free to leave, Murtagh had no idea what he would do.

Freedom, it appeared, was not as easy as it looked.

As Murtagh retraced his steps, his thoughts turned to the elf.

"_I saved her, and she treats me like some sort of criminal,_" he thought, anger again rising.

"_Can we go flying today?" _asked Thorn.

"_That might not be a good idea."_

Disappointment emanated from Thorn.

"_That doesn't mean we're not going to do it," _thought Murtagh, a real smile appearing.

….

Murtagh had hoped to find an empty dragonhold. Instead, his (_half) _brother was there.

"Murtagh."

_Some greeting. _

"Eragon."

"This cannot continue," said Eragon tiredly.

"What?" Murtagh's innocent was partially feigned. Eragon might only be talking about his wandering around the sitting, going out for flights on Thorn, and generally scaring the populace.

"This…tension between us. Can we simply talk things over?"

"What is there to talk over?" asked Murtagh caustically. The prospect of a heart-to-heart conversation with Eragon was not one that appealed to him.

"You resent me."

"I resent you because you backed me into a corner! A corner which eventually resulted in my enslavement!"

"I could never have known the twins were going to capture you. Be reasonable."

For some reason, the command at the end of the sentence infuriated Murtagh.

"Listen, _brother, _you did nothing to help me, then or now."

Eragon's voice was filled with cold fury. "If I hadn't spoken for you, you would probably be dead."

"No fair system would have counted me guilty!"

"Murtagh, you killed people on the king's orders. And Horthgar—"

Murtagh hated Eragon for bringing that up. He hadn't had to kill the dwarf king. It had been sheer euphoria at his new powers. It was one of the more prominent features in his nightmares.

"What about you? Weren't the dwarves angry when you smashed their stone? But, I notice, you're alive."

"Saphira mended Isidar Mithrim. And they value their _king _more than a gem!" Eragon sighed in frustration. "If I hadn't said that anything you did while under the king's influence wasn't utterly useless in court, they wouldn't have given up until your head was on a stake. Be grateful."

"I owe you nothing. If I hadn't let you go at the Burning Plains, the king would still be alive. Do not think I was not punished for that."

"_ENOUGH!" _Saphira's mental shout was forceful enough to make bother riders stagger.

"_Will I really be forced to pin you beneath my feet again and make you be civil to each other?"_

Murtagh resisted the urge to glare at the dragon. He knew the results would be disastrous. Thorn moved protectively toward his rider. Eragon sighed.

"Can't we talk about this?"

"What's to talk about?" asked Murtagh, realizing it was an immature response, but not caring.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry the twins captured you, I'm sorry about all you went through. I'm sorry I made you come to the Varden. But you can't pretend you were totally honest with me. We were being chased by Urgals and _then _you decide to reveal who you are?"

"If you hadn't _lied _about there being an escape route, you never would have had to find out!" Murtagh's voice was rising, months of anger at Eragon finally finding an outlet.

"I didn't lie! I never said there was or wasn't! I said I didn't know, but probably there was. If I had known how important it had been, maybe I would have checked. You never gave me a _reason _for wanting to leave."

Murtagh had no response, which made him even angrier. Eragon had an infuriating habit of being right. Generally, when you argued with him, you appeared to be heartless, simply because no one could follow his idealistic morals. Murtagh was about to ask Eragon what he was getting at when a voice interrupted them.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but Eragon is needed by Lady Nasuada," said Arya.

"_That damn elf has a habit of showing up exactly when she isn't needed," _thought Murtagh.

Eragon's ears reddened. Apparently he was embarrassed to be caught mid-altercation.

"Thank you, Arya," he said. He turned and walked through the door. Arya remained, staring at Murtagh with an unreadable expression.

"_Not unreadable, that's contempt_."

"Is there something you want?" asked Murtagh.

"Nothing…I'm just curious…why are you so angry that you're in the wrong?"

"Listen, elf, were it not for my help you probably wouldn't be alive right now. I think you owe me the favor of leaving me alone."

Arya's expression went from contemptuous, to cold.

"And without my vote you most certainly would be dead. So perhaps you owe _me_ an answer."

Murtagh clenched his fists and replied in a calm voice. "What Eragon and I were arguing about is none of your business."

Arya raised her eyebrows, and stared at Murtagh, who met her gaze without flinching. After a moment, the elf turned and gracefully strode out of the room, leaving Murtagh staring at the walls where she'd been.

"_Damn it. The sooner I can leave the better._"

Murtagh shoved away the thoughts that the conversation raised. A flight was perfect to clear his head.

"_Where do you want to go, Thorn? We can stay out as long as we want._"

**Hey guys! I persist in my unholy shippings! Has anyone else noticed that my italic-thoughts are starting to resemble Stephen King's in **_**The Shining? **_**No one? Good! **

**Is Murtagh OOC? I'm working really hard on that…he seems to have some anger issues so I'm bringing that to light. **

**Thanks to Evanescene2189 for her edits and support!**


	3. Preferences

_Diamond Cut Diamond_

Chapter Three: Preferences

_What is _wrong _with you? _

Arya inwardly cursed herself. _There is no reason to go around picking fights. Particularly with someone as powerful—and unbalanced as Murtagh. _

Arya paced the small room. It was Galbatorix's most secure library, and it held all the records from when the dragon riders had ruled. The king hadn't gotten rid of them, and Arya, once again, wished she knew why. Sometimes, she wished she understood the late king better…his actions often made little sense. He couldn't have kept them in the interest of history—he had destroyed many accurate histories. Maybe nostalgia? Arya wasn't sure.

The elf returned to her window seat. Of all Uru'baen, it was probably one of the most peaceful places. The seat was in was a round tower-room that served as a library. One had to climb several flights of stairs and disable several enchanted barriers to get to the room, and it was chock-full of bookshelves. The only seating in the library was the window seat Arya now inhabited. She had been studying the records there since Eragon had first found the room, and she had reached the uneventful golden age of the riders.

She intended to read all of the records—both to satisfy her curiosity and to advise Nasuada on the exact workings of the previous order's style of government. The leader planned to implement as many as she could into the doctrine that was being laid down for the future generations of Alagaesia. Arya wasn't sure how much good a piece of paper marked with good intentions would be, but she had joined the committee that was writing it.

If the doctrine was ever finished (Arya was beginning to doubt the prospect) elections would take place. The obvious candidate was Nasuada, and Arya was fairly sure the woman would get her own vote. Jormundur had presented himself as a candidate, and Arya wondered idly whether he had previously informed Nasuada of the choice. There seemed to be no ill-feeling between the two. Trianna had also chosen to run, insane as the prospect seemed, Arya was sure the woman was wily enough to get a significant percentage of the votes.

_If that scheme actually works…_

Arya wasn't sure Nasuada's plan for vote-counting would be workable, but she admitted it was the most probable of the ideas that had been presented. Every person who wished to cast a vote would mark a ballot provided by the government of each town (that one had been fun to mandate…Arya and Eragon had been forced to fly to each city in Alagaesia and provide them with parchment, explain the rules, swear the counters to honesty, and argue with each and every leader that Nasuada's ideas were sane, if a little new-fangled)

Eragon had been appointed to hear and record the tallies from each city and make the addition that would determine Alagaesia's new leader.

For how long the term would be was still not decided. Nor was the amount of power that that leader would have, whether the court system was to be separated from the national government totally and left to the cities, or even be divided among areas not yet specified, and scores of other important issues.

"_All important decisions..._" mused Arya. "_But in all honesty I'd rather be up here reading. How incredibly selfish."_

Arya felt the familiar stab of guilt. "_Guilt has hounded me for too long_," she thought. "_I've been guilty since mother banished me…but what wrong have I done?"_

The list presented itself, as always.

"_I did not forgive my mother, I did not save Faolin and Glenwing…I let Faolin die without ever telling him how I felt. I lived and they died. I let myself be captured, I let all sorts of indignities come to me in Gil'ead, I broke Eragon's heart, I lived through so many battles and so many others did not. I lived. Why did I live?_

"_Because you are an elf, you are skilled in magic and swordplay, because you have sense enough to keep yourself alive, because you have experience!_

"_And does that make me more worthy of life than the young people, not hardened or jaded, ready for life, who fell?"_

And Arya could never answer the question. She shook herself. "_Nothing is accomplished by this,_" she said, and dove back into her reading.

Arya's sharp hearing picked up the sound of footsteps before the intruder reached the tower. She was surprised, the elf had thought this was _her _refuge. She reached out curiously.

"_Not again…_"

Arya foolishly looked around for an escape route. The elf scolded herself. "_What are you, a child?" _

Murtagh pulled open the door and Arya detected exasperation in his face.

She nodded in greeting and returned to her book. Murtagh returned the nod curtly and looked for something on the shelves. Selecting a book, he made to leave.

"You can't take that out of here," said Arya. Her response had been knee-jerk, she guarded the cache of history jealously.

Murtagh sighed and replaced the book. "Can I not _breathe _without you criticizing me, elf?"

"I simply wish to preserve the past," said Arya. "I do not want the books to get lost or stolen."

"Of course, no one would want to lose an entire library of the Riders' praise of themselves," replied Murtagh dryly.

"Praise you seem interested in," countered Arya.

"A response for everything," said Murtagh grimly. "Good day, elf, I hope my leaving does not annoy you as much as my other actions have."

And he was gone, Arya glaring at the door.

"My name is Arya," she aloud, too annoyed to even think herself foolish.

"_The idiot. These books should be treated with respect—as should I._ _But he cares for no one but himself._"

Arya immersed herself in her reading again. Deep down, however, lurked a competitive spirit that was nettled. That could have been a highly decent verbal sparring match… 

Apparently the library tower was the place to be that day, for about an hour after Murtagh had taken his leave, Eragon entered. Arya straightened from her relaxed pose, curled like a cat on the seat.

"May the—" he began in the Ancient Language. Arya waved her hand.

"Enough formalities, Eragon. We have traveled together, killed together, and grieved together. I think we may greet each other as friends. Besides, I am tired of politic politeness."

Eragon nodded. "Aye. It becomes wearisome, does it not?"

"Very…that is why I have escaped here," said Arya, closed her book, making a mental note of where she had been.

"Sometimes I think the meetings will give me a more painful death than Galbatorix could have," said Eragon, smiling slightly.

Arya's mind divided itself between annoyance with his immaturity and agreement.

"How is your reading going?" Eragon asked, after a pause just slightly too long to be natural.

"Quite well, I'm enjoying it. The riders had a near-perfect system…with only one fatal flaw," said Arya.

"Oh?" asked Eragon, raising an eyebrow.

"There was too much power divided between too few individuals. It was too easy for one to take control."

Eragon nodded in acknowledgment. "And now we must try to avoid that flaw—and so many others."

"Nasuada's plans are good though. She has the mind of a leader."

"I intend to vote for her," said Eragon. "Do you?"

A smile lifted Arya's lips, and Eragon looked as if he had been rewarded. "We have all been warned not to speak of our choices."

Eragon shrugged, appearing only slightly abashed. "We are in the highest tower, I doubt anyone is listening. You do not have to answer, and my vote is fairly obvious."

"Why so? Nasuada released you from your oaths of fealty," countered Arya.

"I have served under her and know her. I realize she is responsible, and I agree with her on most points," said Eragon simply.

Arya nodded again and added "I, too, intend to cast my vote for Nasuada. She seems the most capable."

"Better than Trianna, anyway," said Eragon with a grimace. "Imagine her in control."

"She reminds me of the snake she wears,' said Arya. "But there are other candidates…though I know little of them. There is an official from teirm, yes? And Dras'leona and Gil'ead?"

Eragon nodded. "And several officials from Uru'baen. I'm worried people will vote for those who seem familiar. Nasuada may be viewed as a dangerous rebel."

"That she was, but she brought about good change—already corruption is being stamped out. Nasuada has a good chance, especially among the more radical population."

"Most that is in Surda—and the Surdans have no part in our elections," said Eragon.

"You yourself said there is much dissatisfaction in the former Empire. We shall see what it breeds," replied Arya.

Eragon acknowledged her point, then looked out the window. The sun was beginning to set.

"I must go, and if I am correct, so must you. We are to attend yet another meeting."

Arya smiled wryly. "Come, let us make haste. Though I am loathe to leave my books."

"Would you rather the books than the people?" queried Eragon as they began their descent.

Arya tilted her head to the side, in a manner she knew was unmistakably avian. "It depends on the day," she said.

**I can identify with Arya sometimes…**

**She is so hard to keep in character. Feedback please! **

**Sorry for shortness! **


	4. Arguing With Elves

_Diamond Cut Diamond _

Chapter four: Arguing With Elves

"_Stupid elf…"_

"_You should stop thinking about her,_" said Thorn.

"_I only just remembered now because I want that book. I haven't thought about it all day."_

"_You thought about it while you were listening to Nasuada talking," _pointed out Thorn.

"_Only because I would have understood what she said better if I had the book!"_

"_You brood too much. This is a perfect example." _

"_I do not!"_

Murtagh sighed. That had been childish. Thorn, hatchling though he was, seemed to agree.

"_This has been happening far too often lately…_" he thought in annoyance. "_Damn elf. Damn Eragon…he had to dredge everything up again."_

Murtagh paced his room. It was still the same room he'd lived in while serving the king. He'd wanted to move but couldn't come up with a good enough reason to go to the trouble. So he was stuck moodily rattling around, remembering.

After about the seventh lap around the carpet, Murtagh made up his mind.

"_I'm going to get the book. At least it will give me something to with my mind._"

"_That might not be a good idea," _said Thorn. "_What if the pointy-eared female is there?_"

"_She isn't always there. She's probably at dinner with Nasuada."_

Doubt emanated from Thorn, but Murtagh ignored it.

The sun set as Murtagh began the long ascent. By the time he reached the tower, it was fully dark. A whispered word set a ball of light into the air, and then, for some odd reason, Murtagh hesitated by the door.

"_You could forget about it…_"

Murtagh grimaced. He'd walked up all these stairs, he'd just spend an hour or so reading. He wouldn't take the book; the elf probably kept tabs on every single volume.

Murtagh pushed the door open.

_Damn it!_

Arya looked up from her scroll, startled. Her face was unreadable, as usual.

Before she had a chance to say anything, Murtagh held up a hand. "I do not want to argue with you, elf. Just let me read in peace."

Arya raise one eyebrow. "As you wish," she said.

She did not, however, give up the window seat.

Murtagh found the book he'd been about to take earlier, and leaned against the wall and opened it. It was one of the earlier volumes, and described the first time the court the riders had devised had been used. The case had been about a man who had killed several people and appeared to have no intention of stopping. The riders had argued about whether or not his insanity should count him worthy of a pardon, or whether he should simply be put to death.

Eventually, he had been taken to the elves to have his mind examined and treated.

"_The enlightened choice,_" thought Murtagh, wryly. "_And yet, it's never noted what the people thought of this. Because the riders didn't care, did they? They knew best, of course. No lowly peasants could _possibly _stand on a jury. At least in the empire most cases were dealt with city by city, not brought to the king to decide." _

"What do you think of the riders' court?" asked Arya.

Murtagh was startled. He wasn't sure why the elf had asked the question, but it held a hint of challenge.

"I thought it was fundamentally flawed," he said, not looking up.

"Oh? How so?" asked Arya.

"Rulers do not live in the countries they rule over, nor among their people. Thus, they are in no position to judge criminals. The populace should decide the fate of criminals."

"Is the average population as well-versed in ethics as you or I? Most are uneducated," said Arya.

"You degrade humans because you are not one. Education is not needed for a sense of justice."

"You are no human either," pointed out Arya. "And the more refined commit less crime."

"What of corrupt politicians whose deals may cost many people their livelihoods? They are educated and cause more strife than the thieves who rob out of necessity," argued Murtagh.

"But violent crime—it is generally the province of the lower classes."

"Only because the high can hire it out."

"Still, look at the riders. I have studied much, and can find few instances of injustice, and none where they were violent without cause. Surely they are better to judge wrong-doers."

"You place them upon a pedestal. Riders were humans and elves—as fallible as either race is. Certainly they were powerful and learned, but they were as susceptible to flaws as the rest of us. And as they lived in a high-class environment, they were not fit to judge all levels of society."

"Neatly tied up—and I agree," said Arya.

Murtagh frowned, nonplussed. "So why did you argue the other side so fiercely?"

"I wanted the exercise," said Arya. "I have not been able to indulge in a decent debate for quite some time. Too often much lay in the balance of my arguments. That was quite enjoyable."

Murtagh was unsure whether to feel used, or take the gesture as a friendly one. Oddly, he felt the same satisfaction he would after a good sparring match. He inclined his head to Arya, and she nodded back.

Murtagh replaced the book, being careful to find the right space on the shelf and walked towards the door. He half-expected Arya to return to her usual, cold self, and make some nasty remark, but she did not, and so he closed the door and began the long descent.

"_That was improvement,"_ commented Thorn, and Murtagh could think of no appropriate response.

"_I wonder if she could have won if we'd reserved sides…" _he mused.

LINE BREAK 

"—What do you think, Murtagh?" asked Nasuada.

"_Damn it! Thorn, what was she saying?"_

"_Agree with her," _said Thorn.

"I agree with you, Lady Nasuada," said Murtagh, wondering exactly what he'd just said. Thorn had a mischievous streak that even King Galbatorix had not managed to fully quell.

"Eragon?" asked Nasuada.

"Yes, I'd agree as well. Terms shouldn't be more than ten years, or it'll be too easy for one ruler to change too many things."

"_Oh, _not _this again. I thought we finally settled on sevenyear terms." _

"But if we change too often, no leader will be able to accomplish anything," said Jormundur.

"_This discussion has gone in so many circles we could probably draw energy from it…"_

"Five years is a good balance," said Nasuada firmly.

"People will never adjust to having their leader changed every five years!" said Orrin.

"_Why _he's_ advising us, I have no idea."_

"Change was the point of this whole rebellion!" said Jormundur.

"_I have that line memorized…"_

"Too much change, too fast! Seven years, or better, ten!" said Orrin.

"_The futility…"_

"Look at it this way," said a new voice. "The first year will mostly consist of forming a strategy to deal with whatever problems have arisen at the time. The second, third, and fourth will be implementing them. The next one or possibly two, will either involve watching over the reign the leader has established, or creating a new strategy if the first did not do its job. If the latter is the case, then add one more year. Thus, seven is the right number." Arya looked around the table, anticipating challenge.

"_And now we're right back to where we started."_

"_The elf has a point,_" said Thorn.

"_She does…and she illustrates it better than any of the other fools. Hopefully no one will be able to argue with her and we can move on."_

No one spoke, and Nasuada cleared her throat.

"We've gone around is circles long enough—shall we vote? Seven-year terms, yea or nay?"

The only dissenting vote came from Orrin, and Nasuada made a note, which everyone signed.

Murtagh _hated _the official obsession with signing everything that anyone agreed to. He didn't see what good it did. People broke promises on which lives hung—a piece of paper was not going to change anything.

And he hated his name. That really went without saying, but every time he wrote it (in elegant handwriting, something that he'd been forced to practice as a child) it reminded him of several things he preferred to keep hidden deep down in his mind.

Murtagh has considered changing it, but could think of nothing. After all, he hadn't killed a shade, hadn't really done anything of importance in the war. Really, all he had done was remove himself from the other side, setting the scales in balance. Oh, maybe he'd fought, he'd killed a fair amount of the king's magicians, lent Eragon energy his is duel with the king, but he hadn't done anything _noteworthy. _Nothing worth a title, anyway.

The session broke for lunch, and everyone went their separate ways. Murtagh went to visit Thorn, who was in the dragonhold with Saphira. He was relieved when he found it empty save for Thorn, Saphira, and Shruikan.

Shurikan, by some benevolent (or perhaps cruel) twist of fate, had survived the war. As Galbatorix died, his bonds had been broken, and Eragon had argued fiercely for his pardon. The black dragon was in much the same position as Murtagh: free, but hated and aimless. He spent his time in the dragonhold, apparently having no other place he wished to go. Murtagh had only felt his mind a few times, and he could not make sense of Shruikan's consciousness. By turns, the dragon seemed filled with insane rage, regret for what he'd done, bloodlust, love for the king, hate for the king, confusion, and sadness.

"_Saphira tried to talk to him again today," _said Thorn.

"_Oh?_"

"_It ended like it always does—she gave up. But I think I saw something in his eyes…some kind of recognition."_

"_Maybe."_

Murtagh doubted Shurikan would ever be anywhere near sane again. He honestly pitied the dragon, and Murtagh's pity was a rare commodity. Still, there was nothing he, or anyone else could do for the black dragon.

Thorn was in a sleepy, complacent mood, and Murtagh leaned up against him, thinking about Nasuada's plans. They seemed far-fetched; nothing like her system had ever been done before. Even the elves had a monarch. They and the Dwarves seemed to get along fine with their laws—it was humans and Urgals who managed to destroy each other.

"_Humans and Urgals…what's the real difference_?" thought Murtagh wryly.

"_Urgals have horns—they are less ill-equipped than you puny humans," _replied Thorn. Murtagh wondered if the dragon would ever understand rhetorical questions.

"_Really,_ _it is a good thing you have me. Otherwise you would be helpless," _continued the dragon.

"_Not completely, Thorn."_

"_Oh? Look how much trouble you got into before I hatched for you!"_

"_Look how much trouble I got into _after _you hatched for me,"_ pointed out Murtagh, actually smiling. Thorn nearly always managed to cheer him up.

Idly, Murtagh wondered what his true name was. Galbatorix hadn't told him his first, but he had hinted at it. Murtagh knew it had been long, and, worst of all, had contained his father's name.

He was fairly sure _that _had been what had changed.

But he would never know.

"_Add that to the list," _he mused.

Even so, Murtagh was as close to content as he had been for a while. Eragon had been avoiding him since their altercation, something Murtagh felt no guilt whatsoever about, no one had thrown anything at him today (he would say nothing about the muttering and whispering), the councils were as intolerable as ever, but at least Arya has resolved one issue. And Arya…well, that was interesting, if nothing else. He hadn't been forced to interact with her all day, and he was still mulling over the previous night's debate. He felt cheated—the elf had no exactly let him win, but she had been arguing a side she was less practiced at.

All of this reminded him of the secluded library, and before he could talk himself out of it, Murtagh began the ascent.

**I'm moving things along now…we'll see where it goes. Thorn is so hard to write…I've characterized him as young before…but now he's sort of in the middle as he's a few months old. So he's still "stunted-thoughts-red-scales" but a little older and wiser. **

**Anyone catch the Harry Potter Reference in the title? I'll give you a hint…Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, (Third Class) Honorary Member of the Dark Force defense League, and Five-time Winner of Witcy Weekly's "Most Charming Smile" Award might have written it.**


	5. Names

_Diamond Cut Diamond_

Chapter Five: Names

Arya spent her evenings in the library. She grew used to Murtagh's occasional presence, leaning against the wall, catching up with her reading at lightning speed, and they'd go back and forth about points in history. In general, they agreed on what was right and wrong and in government, but when they got down to single events themselves, they could not seem to agree on anything.

He won, she won, she won, he won, each conceding defeat without any bad feeling on their part.

So it passed for a week, as they signed paper after paper, and even began drafting the Doctrine of Alagaesia. Endlessly drafting.

Arya kept her role and the one who ended the running-in-circles. She moved things along as often as she could without seeming impatient.

Murtagh still hated his name every time he signed it.

Life gained an odd sort of normalcy. Arya realized it had been nearly over three weeks since they had killed the king.

"_Time flies when you're having fun."_

The people had begun to have their own ideas about self-government, and Nasuada had been forced to factor that into her plans. During the interim, as Nasuada called it, most towns had taken matter into their own hands, and were managing quite well. Now the king was gone, they eliminated their own corruption nicely—if a little bloodily. Arya still found it hard to rue the fate of Teirm's officials, and Jeod, the mapmaker, had seemed positively enthralled.

Thus, Nasuada had sent word to the cities (by Eragon, who else?) that they were to elect an ambassador to help with the Doctrine.

Which had, of course, complicated things even more, but Arya was beginning to actually feel some confidence in Nasuada and her dreams.

Arya's sense of misdirection wasn't gone though, and she shoved it out of her mind, knowing she'd have to face up to her purpose-less-ness sometime, and wanting to delay that as long as possible.

Eragon was busy, and Arya hated how Nasuada seemed to stretch him—the boy (man?) had just killed _King Galbatorix, _he deserved rest. Arya could tell he was not healed from all his life had thrown at him over the past two years. (_That little? No!_) But there was naught to be done.

And so, things passed, and the night of the full moon, Arya was on guard duty.

"_I certainly have the most useless duty of the night," _she thought.

No one, _no one _who was powerful enough to take the egg was anything but on their side.

"_Nasuada's paranoid. But I knew that. She couldn't even let the Dwarves elect their king in peace; she had to send Eragon as watch-dog._

"_I wish I could go up to the library._

_He might be there._

_I wouldn't mind._

_I'd like—ARYA!_

Arya shook herself.

"_Fool! _

_I'd like another decent debate. He's the only one around who seems to have the affinity. Eragon's so…so...frank. He doesn't have the skill or desire to banter._

_For the sake of the Dwarves non-existent gods, stop thinking like this! He hates you! _

—_And he should, because I'm just a hold, hard, bitch who can't be friendly, who never loved, who could never be loved, never, never, never—_

Arya began to recite the steps of the rimgar, from the lowest level to the highest. She breathed in and imagined the scent of the flowers in the gardens of Tiadari Hall.

Halfway through the first phase, she was fine again. She had learned control. She had _had _to learn control.

"_My own mind—my own mind hates me,"_ she thought, with a wry smile.

An elf—and elf whose name Arya knew but couldn't bring to the forefront of her mind came to relieve he, and Arya fairly dashed up to her library. It was one of the only places she felt safe. Safe, alone a place where she could be herself, not the image she tried to project. She wasn't good at tearing down her wall—Eragon could sometimes to it for her, as he had around the campfire that night when spirits roamed the plains, but not often.

Eragon reminded her of herself. Maybe that was why she couldn't love him, didn't love him, would never entertain the thought, even though she _wanted _to love him.

"_I am sorry Arya. I wish it could be."_

"_I—I understand, Faolin."_

"_Stop!"_

Arya forced her breathing to slow as she reached the door of the library. She turned the knob, and was guiltily unsurprised when she found the room occupied.

Murtagh looked up from his scroll.

"Good evening."

Arya nodded to him and went to find her place. She found the scroll she had been about to start was gone from the shelf. Her eyes moved to the window seat—

"_Which is _mine!"

"_Don't be a child, Arya"_

—where Murtagh was holding it, unperturbed. Arya wondered for a moment whether her had done it one purpose before realizing how improbable that was. She was about to skip to the next volume when Murtagh spoke up.

"Interesting thing, elf, I talked to Eragon earlier today. He didn't have any idea about a 'tower library' and seemed to think I'd finally gone mad. You haven't told anyone, have you?"

"No," said Arya, carefully, attempting to find one time in her memory he'd called her by her name, and coming up blank. "No, I haven't. Why?"

"Why _wouldn't _you?"

"You evaded the question." Arya's temper was beginning to flare, deep within her.

"As did you."

"Eragon doesn't have time to read these works, nor does Nasuada or anyone else important. What good would it do? Besides, I'd rather the room wasn't common knowledge. These books are more valuable than mountains of gold. They tell us of the riders, the Golden Age! It's fascinating."

"There's another reason. You could have told Nasuada, she would have assigned you to read them and kept it quiet. Why have you been hiding up here, elf?"

"_Arya," _said elf hissed.

"What?" asked Murtagh.

"_ARYA! _My name is _Arya_! Arya! After my mother's mother! You have not _once _called me by my name!" Arya was not sure why she was shouting, but it felt good. She had not shouted like this, over something small and petty for a long time. She had not lost control since Eragon had nearly died, since Oromis died. And that was fear and grief—this was giving away to pure, unbridled _infuriation._

"What is it about this place?" asked Murtagh again, and Arya fixed him with a look of fire and ice.

"Say it. Say it. _Say my name_."

"Is it because—"  
>"<em>Say my name!"<em>

"Do you feel safe here? Alone—among books, not people?"

That scared Arya, and she didn't know why.

"You _bastard_! You can't even give me the common courtesy to treat me like a person! I am! I may be an elf, but _I am a person_!" The room was quiet for one second...two seconds…

Arya turned her head regally and walked out the door, letting it swing behind her, and walked slowly and sedately down the steps, feeling every bit like the rejected, adolescent girl she had once been, on a night much like this.

Up in the cloistered tower, the air still seeming to reverberate the words and the door's slam, Murtagh spoke aloud.

"I do too, Arya. It's different up here—everything that has happened can't seem to follow us."

**Short. It's short. I'm sorry. But it just felt right to leave it where it is. **

**Arya's little outburst…I'm so sure I like it. But things needed to move forward a little. **


	6. What Do You Fear?

Arya didn't think about that had happened. She didn't think about how she'd shouted and walked out like a _teenager_, didn't think about what would happen, didn't think about the consequences.

Because there weren't any. Nothing would happen. Her outburst would _stay _up in that little room, the safe room, the sanctuary.

Except…what was Morzansson going think of her? Really. She'd almost had respect. Which was something she realized she'd been battling for, gaining ground in their battles, and she'd thought she had it. Her recent act had torn all that work down. Beautiful.

Arya did what she always did with things that bothered her: she ignored them. She shoved them to the back of her mind and locked them in her trunk marked "Dangerous Thoughts," to keep her love for Faolin, her contempt for Eragon, her numerous insecurities, her resentment of her mother and all the rest company.

Then she went to "sleep."

Arya wished she could _sleep_, really sleep, but the lack of that ability was part of the curse of being an elf.

* * *

><p>The next day involved going to Dras'leona and doing a formal investigation of Helgrind. Eragon and Roran hadn't thoroughly explored, and it turned out that the mountain was a vast labyrinth. Arya joined Eragon on Saphira, and Murtagh and Thorn flew beside them, winging their way through the crisp, autumn air to the mountains called "The Gates of Hell."<p>

The mountains were ominous as they drew closer and closer. They seemed so _dead_, so alien and abnormal. Saphira led the way to the illusion in the wall. Arya felt herself brace for impact as the wall came closer and closer…

They were inside a cave, sunlit and large.

"_This isn't so bad," _thought Arya, trying to calm her claustrophobia. She could not keep it at bay for long though and she shuddered as they walked further and further into the cave, the light ominously receding. Arya, an elf born and raised in the woods, found it oppressive. She calmed herself with mental images of Tialdari Hall, as usual. Still, she found herself feeling short of breath often enough, the walls appearing to grow closer together.

The three split up, agreeing to meet back in an hour. Thorn and Saphira occupied the front cavern, before the optical illusion that hid the Ra'zacs' former den. They were too immense to travel the tunnels, and everyone felt better with a guard, for reasons they could not explain.

Arya wandered, checking each and every door, leaving open those she'd searched. She found many empty rooms, but many held scrolls and books. Those she marked on the map she was scratching out on a piece of parchment. Mapping the labyrinth was part of their goal, and Arya hoped to the stars that it was small.

She walked through room after room. Prison cells, some empty, some with skeletons in them. Arya shuddered in revulsion. The corridor became narrow, and her sense of claustrophobia increased. She sensed she was getting hear the end of the maze.

Then, suddenly, she reached a fork. She chose the right tunnel, and was greeted with one hundred empty yards. It must be a trick to throw people off, she though, turning back and reaching the fork again. She made her way down the left tunnel.

About ten feet down it, her light went out.

Arya tried to cast it again, but she could not even feel the draw of energy.

"_I can't use magic here," _she thought in consternation.

Arya drew her sword, and almost dropped it when she heard Eragon scream from down the corridor.

Arya screamed. Then she recovered herself.

"Eragon?"

No answer.

"Eragon, are you there?"

Silence.

"_How could he have passed me? How could he have gotten down here without me seeing?"_

She strode toward the sound. Her ball of light no longer illuminated the corridor, so she could see nothing. The air was damp and cold. Then, she saw a shape on the ground.

"Eragon!"

Arya dashed to it, but it was wooden sand small, curved on the top—a trunk. She pawed at it, and found the lock. She jumped as she heard the scream again, only it seemed to emanate from the box.

"Eragon!" she cried, wildly.

"_Calm yourself, Arya. It is an enchantment. The trunk, there is a spell on it, that is all, there must be something valuable in it and it's a defense mechanism, just the thing the Ra'zac would think up…" _

"Eragon?" Murtagh's voice came from around the corner.

"No, Arya. There's a—" But Arya did not know precisely _what _there was, so she let the sentence drop.

She heard Murtagh approaching. "I heard a scream."

"So did I, I thought it was Eragon. And…my light went out."

"As did mine," replied Murtagh.

There was another scream, only this time it was not a voice Arya recognized.

"Go on! GO! Before they hit you as well!"  
>"Tornac!" cried Murtagh.<p>

"No..." said Arya.

And again, this time it was Arya's mother.

"You ungrateful _girl_! You left me—you left your home and your family! I was right to banish you and wrong to forgive you! You companions died for you, and all wish they had not sacrificed their lives for one so unworthy."

Arya took deep shuddering breaths. "_Not real. It's not real…"_

"What are we—" began Murtagh, but another voice emanated from the box.

"You have done well, my son," it said, and Arya knew who it was with asking. Murtagh stiffened.

"You have truly taken my place. It is a shame you could not save the king…but you could follow in his footsteps, oh yes—"

"SHUT UP!" shouted Murtagh. "Brisingr!"

The chest did not burn. Arya leapt to her feet. She could not listen to these voices in the darkness any longer.

Murtagh stood beside her and seemed to deliberate a moment before snatching the trunk up. It began in Oromis's voice.

"I am dead because of you! You killed an innocent, wise rider. YOU! And _you_! You disappointment to our race, _Arya_, you who let your guards die for you, you who let me die, who broke an innocent boy's heart…you who are not so lily-white as you pretend! Tell me, Arya, how is it that you were able to protect yourself from the Shade Durza? How is it? Could it be, Arya that you lied? That you are befouled, contaminated, not the pure innocent virgin you pretend? Is it possible?"

"Stop it!" screamed Arya. "Stop it!" She shouted all of the seven words of death, but the voice in the trunk laughed. She could not move, she was frozen to the floor—memories—memories—

Murtagh grabbed her arm and yanked her, pulling her back into reality. He pulled her along, and soon she was running to catch up with him.

They saw light, and raced toward it. Eragon stood with a torch and the fork in the tunnels.

"What the hell? I heard shouting! Are you—"

Brom's voice spoke then. "Disappointed, I am, my son. Very disappointed. How is it that you let so many die for you? Kvistor, the Dwarf, to name one? Countless soldiers of the Empire who were enslaved?"

"It—don't listen to it!" panted Arya. "It…it's a spell…it must be!"

Murtagh fumbled with the trunk and found the clasp to it. It was not locked, but it took him several seconds to slip the clasp off, and he glanced at Eragon and Arya before opening it. They nodded, and Murtagh flung the lid off.

Inside was an orb of black crystal. Smoke seemed to swim below its surface and just as a new voice was beginning to speak form it, Eragon snatched it and flung it to the floor. It shattered on the stone, into oily black liquid which smelled foul. In the center of it, small and white, lay an Eldunari.

"Jarnunvosk…" murmured Arya.

"I think it's time to leave," said Eragon shakily. "This was the last tunnel, right? Was there anything at the end?"

"I don't know," said Arya. She wanted nothing more than to run out of the dark, dank, cold tunnels into sunlight, but she had to tell the truth.

"Let's finish it," said Eragon, bending down and picking up the Eldunari. He grimaced in revulsion as some of the black liquid got on his hand, and he scrubbed it on his tunic.

They walked through the dark, until they reached a turn. Arya drew in a deep breath as the rounded it…into a wall. Eragon tried several enchantments, but it seemed that this, the corridor which housed the eldunari of Galbatorix's dragon, was the end. The blessed end.

They carried the books out to the windy cliff edge, and Arya savored the fresh air and they sorted. Most of the books were on black magic, and they were burned, but some of the histories they kept. By the time they were done, the sun had set, and Arya was more than ready to leave the accursed mountains, worshipped by the madmen and women of Dras'leona.

**So. Sorta reminiscent of the jabberjays in **_**Catching Fire, **_**am I right? But decent anyway? Drop a review, and let me know. Oh, and Jarnunvosk's eldunari will be explained next chapter. I know it seems improbable, but all will be explain in time. **

**Sorry for the wait. I was homeschooled for nine years and am taking my Sophmore year at a public school, so there's been some adjustment going on. I'm enjoying it quite a bit! **


	7. Names Again

_Diamond Cut Diamond_

Chapter 7: Names, Again

Arya felt better the further away from Helgrind they got. The very air seemed fresher, until they reached Uru'baen and were greeted by the smells of the city. People still looked up when they saw the dragons, shading their eyes from the glint off of Saphira and Thorn's scales. Some children waved. Arya winced as Eragon waved back.

"_He's so…he knew doing that would make them happy so he did it. He's so good-hearted and I'm…not. I wouldn't have bothered."_

Arya was exhausted, the sun was setting, and they had the possibility of several hours with Nasuada. Arya had the sudden urge to escape to the library. She had been at a fascinating point in the scroll concerning the fiftieth year of the riders' rule, and she'd had something she wanted to ask Murtagh. But she supposed he would be helping explain their day and besides, she couldn't justify running out like a child.

In Nasuada's command room, (not the throne room, she'd been very adamant about not sending the wrong message) the three adventurers and the resident ruler sat at a table inconveniently placed in a sunbeam, explaining their findings.

Time crawled by. Nasuada listened intently, making few interruptions as they told their tale. Eragon finished explaining about how there had been no living prisoners left and then turned to Arya. Arya swallowed hard. _She did not want to talk about this_. She did not want to speak of the screams, the twisted voice in the dark, the deception—

"I heard a scream," said Arya. "I thought it was Eragon, but it turned out to be a…chest."

Nasuada frowned. "Containing what?"

"_Straight to the point," _thought Arya bitterly. _"Why would she give a damn about what we went through as long as we got the treasure?" _Arya did not even rebuke herself, she was still shaken. Murtagh, thankfully took up the tale.

"I heard screaming, too. I followed it, thinking one of the others was in trouble. I found Arya and the chest but it kept on screaming, and in voices that I—recognized. It said things I don't know how it knew….but we made it out and smashed the crystal the voices came from. There was one the other object in the chest—this."

Murtagh held up the pure white eldunari. Nasuada's eyes widened.

"Is that an eldunari?"

"Yes, we think it belonged to Jarnunvosk," added Eragon.

Nasuada nodded, deep in thought. "Why wouldn't Galbatorix have kept it with him? Wouldn't that have prevented him from going mad?"

"He didn't know about it," said Murtagh. "If he had, he wouldn't have…I've heard him ranting about it before, he wishes he could have saved the eldunari."

"Then how…?"

"I don't know. I would assume the Ra'zac found it and hoped to use it as blackmail should they ever need it…but how did our former monarch not realize its existence?"

"She may have fled into her eldunari as she died, but he would have realized…mused Eragon."

"Not necessarily. He was unbalanced at the time," said Nasuada.

"We'll never know. But what's a more pressing question is why the ra'zac kept it," put in Murtagh. There was an edge to his voice, and Arya assumed her felt the same way she did. Both of them wanted out, to go somewhere and be quiet and think about everything they'd just learned about themselves…and each other.

"And whether or not it actually is Jarnunvosk,"said a voice that appeared to be coming from Arya. Strange. The elf was sure she hadn't willingly said those words.

Eragon looked at her blankly. "_You _were the one who said—"

"I assumed. Jarnunvosk was white, ironically, and what other dragon would be kept under lock, key, and magical orb?"

"Can any of you contact her mentally?" asked Nasuada.

Arya grimaced inwardly, and Murtagh didn't even bother to hide his distaste.

Nasuada met their gazes. "It does feel rather like grave-robbing," she said. "I know little of draconian traditions—would this be insensitive?"

"I doubt it, and it's also necessary," said Eragon.

"Who'd like to?"

The words hung. Arya closed her eyes.

"_I'm curious, oh yes, I'm curious, but no. No, no, no. I can't look into that mind, probably was twisted as our dear late monarch's was by now…next to that _thing _all this time…"_

"I will."

Of course. Eragon.

"Both of you stand by, keep in mental contact with me in case she tries to take over. I don't know how strong she is," said Eragon.

Arya and Murtagh obeyed, staying on the outskirts of Eragon's mind, feeling its half-elven-ness and the tension that clouded it.

They couldn't "hear" the conversation, but it took nearly fifteen minutes. Eragon withdrew from the dragon's mind and gave a shuddering sigh.

Arya pulled her consciousness back to her body and looked expectantly at Eragon.

"It..._is _Jarnunvosk. She's a bit…unstable right now, but she managed to tell me that she nearly passed into the void…she was _dead _for a time. But the Ra'zac called her back. They were in the area at the time; it was they who had enchanted the Urgals' arrows. After Galbatorix left her, they somehow, she isn't clear how, called her back."

"_Necromancy…_" murmured Murtagh.

Nasuada nodded. She had a look of wonder in her eyes at the new development.

Eragon's voice was shaking. "She doesn't have clear memories of how it worked, and she's in quite a bit of pain."

"What would you suggest we do?" asked Nasuada.

"I'd say we stop this from becoming common knowledge," said Murtagh. To Eragon, he added, "Why did the Ra'zac capture her, anyway? More to the point, why did they _kill _her?"

"I'm not entirely sure. It had to do with blackmail…the Ra'zac were going to use her eventually. It was very garbled."

"I understand," replied Nasuada. "Eragon, would you be willing to keep the Eldunari safe? You've kept Glaedr's all this time."

"Of course, Lady Nasuada," said Eragon.

"And with that matter settled for the time being," said Nasuada, "I think you three would like a good night's sleep?"

"That we would," said Eragon, "but if I might, I would bind us all to secrecy in the matter of Jarnunvosk."

Murtagh tensed, but replied calmly, "I do not swear oaths for nothing, and this falls under that category. You have my word as a rider, but naught else."

"If word gets out—" began Eragon.

"I know how to stay silent," replied Murtagh. "And I stand firm. I no longer swear to anything unless it is of the greatest importance."

Eragon looked to argue, but Nasuada cut in. "Very well, Murtagh. I can understand your position…but if I hear one word from anyone other than those gathered here now, I'll know whose fault it was. You may go."

And that dismissal was hardly arguable.

* * *

><p>Arya had one thing she wished to sort out, though, before she slept. She found Eragon in one of the makeshift mess halls and sat down beside him.<p>

"Eragon, didn't I tell you about the library? You saw it!"

Eragon looked up, slightly surprised to see her. "In the tower? Yes, I remember."

"So why did you tell Murtagh you didn't know what it was?"

"He was raving on and on about a tower where there were histories of Alagaesia. I didn't know that...I supposed it was simply another record of accounts. I had no intentions of returning there."

"_Tell him he's right. Don't give it up. The histories are yours, yours and Murtagh's. Let him never return there. Let it be yours. Let Murtagh be right. You never _told _him, he came of his own accord. You guarded it. Keep guarding it. It is yours!_"

"No…it's a history. A true history. From the beginning of the riders' times.,_" _said Arya. "The most complete I've ever seen."

Eragon's entire face lit up. "That's…amazing! I thought he had destroyed nearly all unbiased histories, like the _Domina al Wyda_."

"As did I," replied Arya.

"Why didn't you tell me that the library was when I found you there?"

"I…" Arya couldn't tell the truth, because the truth was idiotic. "I didn't know until I read a good amount of the scrolls."

'Ah," said Eragon. "Shall I tell Nasuada?"

"Yes," said Arya. "Yes, please do.

She could not explain the weight she felt in her chest. She had lost her sanctuary.

* * *

><p>Arya, for some mad reason, felt the need to apologize. After all, it wasn't only <em>her <em>place, was it? She hadn't just ruined it for herself. She started climbing the stairs. Murtagh would be there, she was sure. It would be the first time she spoken to him since they got back from Helgrind.

It was darkening, and Arya felt a chill in the air. Autumn was coming on. Ellesmera would be beautiful at this time, Arya reflected.

She missed home. After years of travelling, and getting one small taste of her home, she simply longed even more. She wanted to live in Tialdari hall, speak to her mother without icy distance, and have none of the cares she had now.

And yet, though Arya had originally distained human cities, she was beginning to appreciate the life that flowed through them…elves were so _dormant. _

"_That might have changed since the war,_" thought Arya. "_Who know what home is like now?"_

She reached the door.

"_I have no right to this place,_" thought Arya bitterly._ "I sold my sanctuary to prove Murtagh wrong._"

She knocked on the door, and it seemed an age before Murtagh opened it. She thanked the stars he had actually been there.

He nodded to her, looking puzzled. "Why did you knock?"

"I—" began Arya, feeling like a fool. "I—wanted to tell you that Eragon's been here before, but he thought it was just some old accounts and never would have come back. But I told him what is really stored him and fairly soon Nasuada will know. I…thought you should know."

Murtagh's face darkened. "Why did you tell him?"

"Because I'm an idiot," said Arya softly.

"You wanted to spite me for asking you why you'd kept the secret," said Murtagh bluntly.

"Yes," replied Arya.

Murtagh cursed. "I wish I hadn't said anything."

"I'm sorry," said Arya.

"It doesn't matter, really," said Murtagh. "I'll still probably be allowed to look at the records."

"It won't be the same," said Arya, wondering how on earth she could have said something so stupidly sentimental and _human_.

"No," replied Murtagh. "No, it won't be, Arya."

Arya liked how her name sounded in his voice, liked how be pronounced it fully, without lingering on the "Ee" sound in the middle, simply letting it hang in the air like a soap bubble, or a butterfly, or anything that is only present of as long as it chooses to give you.

"You said my name."

"You seemed to be preoccupied with the thought that I should."

"I suppose I was. Thank you, Murtagh."

**It's late. Life decided to hate me lately. Darwin forbid I have a calm autumn… sent me a very nice PM which made me get my butt in gear about updating...thanks for that, RF.  
><strong>

**Oh and INHERITANCE CAME OUT! I READ IT IN THREE DAYS! IT WAS WONDERFUL! AND HORRIBLE! AND SO MANY OTHER THINGS!  
><strong>

**Ahem.**

**Review. **


	8. Unwanted Nostalgia

**Diamond Cut Diamond**

**Chapter 8: Unwanted Nostalgia**

Things were…quieting down?"

"_Couldn't be_," thought Murtagh wryly.

"_It seems so," _countered Thorn. "_Although after our journey to Helgrind, nearly anything would seem calm."_

"_You have a point. But things seem to be falling into place._"

If they were, you could certainly see it from Murtagh's vantage point. High above Uru'baen, slowly circling the city, occasionally drifting through the cold of a cloud, dragon and rider could see that life was being picked up and gone on with in the city.

Even the street markets were starting up again, and while the city wasn't _rebuilt _at least it was _cleared. _The Black Hand was, for the time being, lying low. The same was true for nearly all the cities, though Eragon was having some difficulties in Dras'leona eliminating the slave trade. Murtagh viewed it was a futile quest, but then again, he'd thought the same thing about the war. Or he'd said so, convinced himself he believed so, so fully that he almost had. But Murtagh had hoped.

"_Of course you did," _said Thorn.

"_Of course," _said Murtagh in a resigned tone.

Because thoughts did have tones. Murtagh's mental tone was usually calmer and less rough than his actual voice. It seemed more natural. Eragon's mental voice was deeper, older, and yet at the same time softer. And of course, Morzan's…_my father's_, thought Murtagh. As he had become an adolescent, he had begun to mentally refer to his father by his name. It made it easier to think of Morzan as some random man, an evil man that Murtagh didn't know personally. People you don't know are easier to hate. Easier to brush off.

When you know them, they start to do all sorts of nasty things like praise you when you do well at the things they're teaching you, take you out riding on a gorgeous gray stallion, weave you stories about their adventures, tell you that you have their face, but your mother's eyes.

And then when they do something else, when they shout at you or even hit you, you decide that it really is your fault, and you're _so _angry with them, but deep down you just want it to be better and maybe you can forget the bad times and the good ones will come back.

Murtagh attempted to shake these thoughts like a dog would wet fur. "_Don't we have a job to do?" _he asked Thorn.

"_Yes…"_

"_I see you're looking forward to it about as much as I am."_

* * *

><p>The closer they got to Morzan's castle, the more out-of-temper Murtagh got.<p>

"_I would have given Nasuada the damn place. Given it to her! With everything inside it."_

"_I doubt she'd want it," _said Thorn, reasonably.  
>"<em>I don't! I'd rather you set it on fire."<em>

"_That can be arranged."_

"_I'm tempted. But one needn't look more like a raging lunatic than one must."_

"_Murtagh, you're going to sell it, and then you don't ever have to come back. Let's get this over with quickly."_

"_Hmm."_

Thorn alighted on the long lawn. There had been a huge area set aside for draconian take-off and landings, but the gardens had not been well-maintained, and Murtagh found himself wading through knee-deep weeds.

"_The terrifying dragon rider, covered in burrs. Lovely."_

Thorn did not distain to respond to Murtagh's sarcasm.

Murtagh made his way through the once grand gardens.

"_Mother loved flowers and why didn't I ever save those roses she loved so much, the ones I ripped my skin up picking when I was three, roses are so damn cliché and yet she melted every time he gave them to her. I wonder if Brom ever gave her roses. _

_I shouldn't have come here, no I _should _have come here a long time ago, before it got to be so long, before time quit moving here while it moved everywhere else. I'm young again here and I don't like it, I'm a stupid kid, who's probably done something wrong._

_Galbatorix didn't lie about keeping the castle in order but the grounds have been neglected. He offered this place to me so many times but I was just too afraid and I was right to be afraid because—"_

"_Murtagh, you are going to walk into a tree if you do not stop that."_

"_Right as always," _thought Murtagh sourly.

Murtagh made his way up to the grand front doors. He leaned against them, and then when the feeling that someone was behind him grew too much to bear, leaned against the wall.

"_Go in. I'll come," _ordered Thorn.

"_I'll go in when I'm showing the place. What the hell's this man's name, anyway?"_

"_No idea. Have a look around, Murtagh." _

Murtagh sighed and then, before he could reconsider, yanked on the big, oaken doors, throwing all his body weight into making the rusty hinges move.

The castle had been maintained, but minimally. There were no actual architectural flaws, but there were several inches of dust, and a squeaking noise that belied rats.

Murtagh glanced around or something to prop open the door with. Nothing.

"_And I sure as hell want some light if I'm going in there."_

Thorn lumbered over, and with a plaintive "Why are you using me this way?" look, he settled himself leaning against the door.

"_Thanks, that'll be fine."_

Thorn blew a smoke ring into Murtagh's face.

Coughing and swearing, Murtagh made his way into the castle. It wasn't in disrepair, but it was definitely dirty and disused. He left footprints in the dust as he moved through entrance hall. Ignoring the front rooms which were mostly for entertaining anyway, and too big and ostentatious for Murtagh to have spent much time in.

So up the stairs, one hand gracing the rail (_just like Morzan_) and down the hall, down the exact center, commanding the entire corridor so if anyone, a ghost maybe, passed they'd have to detour around him (_just like Morzan_) and then into the long corridor with only one room on it, the room where peace and quiet was an absolute necessity that Morzan had gone to extreme lengths to get.

"_If I'm going to do this, I might as well do it properly."_

Murtagh still felt a surge of unease opening the door, maybe he was intruding again, and it was a gamble whether or not he'd get something thrown at him, or a welcome, and maybe a history lesson.

The room was dust-covered, and all the books and valuables were gone, the huge globe with Morzan's own notations on it, all the books, the beautiful books that had entranced Murtagh from the first time he saw them. The book shelves were still there, though, and the desk and chair.

Murtagh strode across the room (_just like Morzan_) and stood in the window, ripped off the shutter, and surveyed the territory. There was no one coming, and Murtagh suppressed annoyance. The buyer was late.

"_If he's more than an hour late, torch the place, all right, Thorn?"_

Murtagh walked over to the desk, and sat down on the dusty chair, appreciating the view his father had had, the view he'd had once as he'd played in his father's office.

"_And wasn't _that _disaster?"_

Murtagh sighed, rose, and walked around the room, absent-mindedly running his hands over the empty bookshelves.

"_Murtagh, someone's coming."_

"_Right. Thank you."_

Murtagh took his time making his way downstairs and back into the sunlight. He blinked, disoriented. Thorn had taken off, letting the door bang behind him, and was riding an updraft created by the baking stone of the castle. Murtagh's buyer was rapidly approaching by horse.

He reached the steps in front of the castle and dismounted, and then practically bounced up the stairs. He appeared wealthy but it was in the way of someone who would rather hunt than buy meat, and who felt finery was an obligation to get out of the way. His hair was about half gray, and he was thin and wiry.

"_Still, he's buying a castle."_

"Good morning."

Murtagh nodded in greeting. "Good morning. Do you want a look around?"

"I'd be pleased. I'm Karth Katarsson, and in case you were wondering, I'm not buying the place for _myself."_

"Ah. " Murtagh led him into the entrance hall. "There isn't any major damage. Just dirt from disuse."

They walked down the entrance hall and into the dining room, where the large table still stood.

"I understand. Now, this is really inspired! Huge dining hall, _exactly _what I need!" Karth seemed to be suffused with joy.

"_Eccentric_," commented Thorn.

"_A bit_."

"You see," said Karth, turning to Murtagh, his ice-blue eyes like quicksilver, "I'm turning it into an orphanage. The wife and I can finally give up this dreadful _shipping _business, we've got money put away, and this place, after it's tidied, will be absolutely perfect."

"I suppose it would be," said Murtagh, the thought of children running around here wrong-footing him completely. "It's large enough."

"Of course, we use a new methodology of teaching. Our own. But that's neither here nor there. It'll do perfectly; I don't need to see any more."

"_That fast?"  
>"I'm not complaining, Thorn."<em>

"And you're willing to pay full price?"

Karth's lips crinkled into a smile. "You won't be able to amuse yourself haggling with me, Mr—Lord—whatever the hell they call you these days. What would you prefer?"

"Murtagh. Just Murtagh."

Karth clapped him on the back. "Yes, I can agree. A man needs a name, not a slew of titles. And yes, I brought you cash. Credits have been unreliable ever since the war ended.

"That's fine. There's the matter of the deed…" Murtagh realized belatedly that the piece of paperwork was in his saddlebags, which were currently circling several hundred feet above his head. "Wait a moment."

"_Thorn! Come down here a minute, will you?"_

Grumbling, Thorn prepared to land. Karth shaded his eyes and watched.

"Beautiful…" he murmured under his breath. "I never thought I'd live to see the day—but you've heard _that _one before?"

Murtagh actually chuckled. "A few times."

"While we wait…" Karth retrieved his own saddlebag, comically stuffed full of coins. "As I said, it looks a little ridiculous, but seeing as the banking system's going through hell… Besides, I doubt _he'll_ have any trouble with it." Karth nodded toward Thorn, who had landed somewhat less than smoothly and was making his way across the lawn.

In spite of himself, Murtagh chuckled again. He half-ran-half-walked out to meet Thorn, and retrieved the necessary papers, along with an inkwell and badly bent quill.

The railing were smooth enough to write non, and Murtagh didn't want to go back in the castle, so he set everything out on the stone sidewalls that led up to the door, and the signing commenced, Murtagh's own elegant handwriting contrasting with Karth's spidery scrawl. Karth barely glanced over the taxation information, muttering about how it would all be different now anyway. Murtagh's head was still spinning over how fast it all had gone.

"_I've never sold a castle before. I thought it would entail more. I an't believe he's going to pay in cash. He's got to be phenomenally rich."_

"_At least you're rid of it. And it'll be used for something good."_

"There!" he said, signing a last flourish and handing Murtagh back the pen, "Pleasure doing business with you, Murtagh."

"_He said my name, just like she did. What's been all the fuss about names lately, anyway? She _did _though."_

And they shook hands, and then they parted, Karth on his horse and Murtagh on Thorn, even though he would have liked to have one last look at the gardens.

But it wasn't _his _house anymore.

* * *

><p>He had only been back an hour or so when Nasuada summoned him.<p>

As soon as he passed the Nighthawks and entered the door, all pretense of formality dropped. Nasuada was alone, buried in papers, and when she saw Murtagh, she smiled.

"_And isn't that odd, how it all just faded away, and neither of us minds?" _thought Murtagh, distractedly._ "Not that she doesn't fall under the category of friend…well…maybe…but categorizing Nasuada is always a mistake."_

"Murtagh! It's good to see you."

"And you, Lady Nasuada."

Nasuada stood, and stretched slightly. "I want you to go to Ellesmera."

Murtagh had to restrain himself from saying "yes" before he even knew _why _he was going.

"Someone's got to represent the riders (and the Republic) while Arya's getting…I don't know, elected? Whatever term they use. I know she's on our side, but I want someone on hand. Blood's thicker than water. Besides, she'll be faster on dragonback, and we really can't spare Eragon, no offense intended."

"It's not a problem, Lady Nasuada. When are we leaving, and what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"_It has," _said Thorn, "_turned into a very good day, after all." _

**A/n I **_**know **_**everyone's done Morzan's castle, but I wanted to re-characterize him.**

**It's so damn hard to keep Thorn in character. How'm I doing at it? **

**Oh, and to ...**_**Inheritance**_**. That is all.**

**Speaking which, **_**Inheritance **_**is basically assumed to have happened in this fic. I had to really crunch the MxN (Bless me father, for I have sinned) but seeing as this is MxA…Yeah. I might screw with it a little. Sort of. This fic is pretty half-assed as it is. **


	9. First Star to the Right

**_Diamond Cut Diamond_**

**Chapter Nine: First Star to the First and Straight on 'Til Morning**

"_We're going to Ellesmera, Thorn."_

"_So I heard."_

Murtagh sighed. "_No, you don't understand. We are going to a city full of elves vastly more powerful than ourselves, who hate us beyond belief."_

"_It's taken you some time to realize that." _Thorn's answer was not sarcastic; it was merely his accurate observation. Murtagh sighed.

"_Well, seeing as I have…Nasuada's mad. She wants me dead. That is the only reasonable explanation."_

Thorn's tone was dry. "_No she doesn't; she just doesn't have another option."_

"_Arya's been on our side for so damn long. I don't actually need to be there."_

"_Eragon said she did the same thing when the dwarves were picking a new king. And she has a point. You know the Varden's interests. Not to mention, I agreed to transport her."_

Murtagh sighed again, mentally going over the meeting, Nasuada's request to Thorn, her outline of everything she wanted Arya to state in her address to her people, what to do if it looked as if Arya was losing, et cetera.

Murtagh was in the dragonhold, as usual. He hated the corridors of the castles and his quarters, and in the city, he attracted too much attention. The dragonhold, however was relatively unoccupied. Shruikan was quiet, sleeping or awake, no one could tell. Oddly, Murtagh didn't mind his presence. They were in much the same frame of mind, and neither disturbed the other.

"_So, Nasuada's basic theory is to attempt to control the election of any monarch in Alagaesia. She can be frighteningly efficient."_

"_Someone needs to be."_

Murtagh agreed. He sighed.

"_This is going to be…interesting."_

* * *

><p>Arya sat in her tent, taking deep breathes.<p>

"_Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two—"_

And counting, counting because you could never get to a point where there were no more numbers. They were infinite. You could rely on them.

"—_thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight—"_

And numbers didn't care about you; they were solid rock that didn't have emotion. They followed certain rules, they never deviated. Learn them and you could do amazing things. They didn't act different ways for different people. They were what Arya aspired to be.

"—_Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four—"_

But that was deeper psychoanalysis than was really needed. Arya counted because it kept her sane. It was simple; it was something to concentrate on. She screamed the numbers in her head to forget the dying faces of

"—_Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight—"_

Soldiers, but also

"—_seventy-five, seventy-six—"_

Glenwing and

"—_Eighty, eighty-one—"_

Faolin, and to drown out Durza's vouce which echoed around her head, bouncing off the walls of her skull, as she tried to force herself not to remember

"—_ninety-five, ninety-sixe, ninety-seven—"_

Not only what everyone praised her for enduring, the _pain_ that had made her cry like a child and want it to _end end end_

"—_One Hundred—"_

But the shameful things that Arya refused to tell anyone, that she knew everyone suspected, _knew _when they looked at her, made her want to rip her skin off.

"—_One hundred and one, one hundred and two, one hundred and three—"_

But breathing and numbers kept out all the images. So had studying in the library but that was silly, she could study anywhere but nowhere else was as secret and silence and safe

"—_One hundred and eleven, one hundred and twelve—"_

Gone, and it was her fault, and maybe Murtagh had needed it like she had, no one knew what was underneath a sane exterior

"—_one hundred and twenty—"_

And she was going home, oh hell, she was going home. Of all places that made Arya feel sick and scared and ashamed, she was going _home._

* * *

><p>"Arya?" Murtagh knocked again on the tent pole.<p>

Murtagh sighed. "_Where the hell would she _be_? We talked to Nasuada yesterday, we're leaving early in the morning to avoid the storm coming, everything was set. Damn elves."_

"Elf, are you in there?"

No response. Murtagh, disliking the idea of risking his mental security around an elf, cast out mentally for Arya.

She wasn't in the tent. Murtagh cursed.

"_Lovely._

"_She'll probably be back in a minute or two. She could have gone to do something."_

"_Or she's complaining to Nasuada about being in close proximity to me for a few days of flying, and camping, and all sorts of awkward things."_

"_She's not that immature."_

Murtagh was surprised at how perceptive the dragon was becoming.

"_You're probably right. Still—"_

"Murtagh?"

Murtagh spun around a bit faster than necessary.

"_Damn…silent…elves."_

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, I had to fetch something. Are you ready?" Arya reached into the tent and pulled out a small bag.

"Yes, for the past hour. Thorn's over in the glade they keep clear for take-offs and landings."

Arya nodded. She cast out her mind. "_Thank you for agreeing to bear me, bjartskular._"

"_You are welcome_," replied Thorn, slightly unsure, because who had ever _thanked _him before?

"And you, rider, for coming with me to make sure I win the throne."

Murtagh's lips twisted into a smile. "Thank Nasuada. Though I do not know how much influence I will have."

"Enough, Elves respect riders. And, unlike humans, we understand the power of true names."

"I also killed your…I killed Oromis and Glaedr."

"Glaedr will be explaining much of that," Arya unconsciously adjusting the strap of her bag. "Do not expect a warm welcome, but do not expect a knife in your back either."

"Comforting," said Murtagh.

They reached the dragon, and Murtagh's first impulse was to help her up onto Thorn. Then, he realizedshe was an elf, and her graceful leap was going to make him look clumsy by comparasion.

"_Sometimes, I hate elves." _

Arya inhaled deeply and Thorn crouched low and began to run, ready to take off.

Thorn leapt into the air, and Murtagh realized his first similarity with Arya. They both loved flight.

**I want to make one thing very clear. While I believe Arya could not have avoided rape while in Durza's hands, I want to be respectful of those who have gone through such a horrible experience. **

**Therefore, while she will suffer certain effects, I will not go into detail because I do not know enough to create a realistic (and by extension, respectful) view of the subject.**

**On a happier note…I UPDATED. What the Frodo?**

**Is it sueish that Murtagh's going with her on Thorn? It's the same principle as Eragon going to oversee Orik's coronation, and the dragon is there for logistics. **


	10. Passengers

_Diamond Cut Diamond_

Chapter 10: Passengers

"_Awkward."_

The word was a new one for Thorn. Murtagh felt the dragon rolling it over in his mind.

"_So, it doesn't mean wrong?"_

"_No. It means that it's odd, and strange, and everyone feels uncomfortable and it's best not talked about."_

"_How is flying awkward?"_

Murtagh sighed. "_You will understand when you are older." _

Disapproval emanated from Thorn, and it was all Murtagh could do not to chuckle.

"Why do you sigh, Shurtugal?" asked Arya, twisting her head back to look at him, pushing her flying hair out of her face.

"Thorn is being rather obtuse," said Murtagh, leaning slightly forward so he would not have to raise his voice above the wind.

"_I would be careful calling the one who is keeping you in the sky names," _said Thorn, allowing both of them to hear him.

Arya laughed. The sound was so different than a human's laugh, so much clearer and more musical, that Murtagh nearly gasped.

"Are we on course?" asked Murtagh, who wanted to keep the conversation going.

"As I see it, yes. We have roughly another day's travel," said the elf, gazing at the horizon, and shading her eyes with one hand.

It was getting late in the afternoon, and their shadow was growing larger on the ground. They had stopped once for food and water and now had every intention on flying through the night. It was growing colder. Murtagh hoped there would be as little wind as there had been all day; it allowed for quicker travel and comfort for the passengers.

"What is Du Weldanvarden like?" Murtagh found himself asking.

Arya twisted her head back again and her green eyes seemed a shade brighter. "It is the most beautiful place in Alagaesia or beyond. The trees are so huge that two humans could not span them with their arms. Our dwellings are sung from nature with the Ancient Language. The cities do not stand out, bare of nature, but blend with the woods we call home. We sing to the trees to nourish them, and magic flows easily throughout the forest."

"It sounds beautiful."

"_Like you. What? What did I just—"_

"It is. It is so beautiful. You have never been there, so you will see it for the first time in all its splendor, for it is summer now and everything is bursting with life. At least there."

"Then it will be welcome relief from the rest of the world."

"Aye. That is part of the reason I am so anxious to be there."

The word _home _should have been in the place of _there_, Murtagh thought, absently.

"And you will see your mother; that is good."

Arya was silent for a moment, and Murtagh rifled through his mind, trying to think of how he could have cause offense.

"Forgive me, Arya, I did not intend—"

"It _is _good. Why would it not be good?" Arya's voice was hard.

"I never said—"  
>"I do not want to go home, for that precise reason. Must you remind me of it?" asked Arya.<p>

"I did not know such a passing remark would cause you offense, _elf_," said Murtagh.

There was a pause, in which Murtagh mentally kicked himself repeatedly.

"I am sorry," said Arya, and her voice was softer. "You do not know of my relationship with my mother, and why returning home causes me such anxiety. I should not have taken out my stress upon you, who have agreed to accompany me to my homeland."

"Instead of an apology, give me an explanation."

There was another pause, and Murtagh began to wonder what the hell was wrong with him.

"My mother expects things of me which I will not and cannot deliver. She is very used to getting her way. I lived out of her sight for many years, and only recently reconciled. It is a wound that is not healed yet."

"I see."  
>Silence stretched out too long.<p>

"I'm sorry."

Silence again.

"Thank you." Arya's voice was slightly choked.

Murtagh was unsure whether or not he should show that he noticed, and the moment passed.

It was late night before thorn began to spiral lower and lower into the sky, over a woodsy area. Murtagh, who had been dozing slightly, shook himself awake and glanced at Arya, who was staring at the cloudy night sky with a sort of preoccupied intensity. Thorn banked his wings and Murtagh leapt off the dragon. His legs buckled beneath him; they were stiff from the hours of travel. He recovered his balance as he watched Arya lightly spring to the ground.

"I'll build a fire. Do you want food or just sleep?"

"Elves don't sleep."

Murtagh was slightly taken aback. "Really?"

"Really. We dream, in a state of suspended animation, conscious and yet not conscious...I am not overly tired, shurtugal. Rest."

And she began gathering wood. Murtagh leaned against one of the trees, closing his eyes and listening to the noises of woods around him.

There was food in the saddlebags, bread, apples, and cheese, all of which Arya partook of. Murtagh contemplated shooting a rabbit or some other small game, but decided against it because he was unsure of the effect it would have on Arya.

"_I can't have her going insane over some small animal. She seems upset enough," _he thought.

"_Mmm. I'm going to see what I can find. Dragons are not elves for a good reason," _responded Thorn.

"I'll watch, you…rest," said Murtagh.

"There is no reason to keep a guard here," replied Arya. "It is deserted for leagues around."

Murtagh said nothing, and then: "I don't honestly know if I can sleep in such a situation."

Arya chuckled wryly. "I was thinking the same thing."

"How long will we be jumping at shadows?"

Arya shrugged, spreading her arms wide. "Forever, perhaps."

"What an existence. We live in fear of that which we have killed." Murtagh found himself laughing. "You know, no one talks about this."

"Of course not. It would be…unfitting. Un…_patriotic. _We ought to be celebrating the new and altogether perfect Alagaesia!"  
>"Yes of course. How could I have possibly forgotten the perfection in which I am now privileged to live."<p>

"Did you ever finish the tenth volume?" asked Arya, stretching out her legs and arching her back like a cat to release the stiffness from their flight.

"No," said Murtagh. "Did you?"

"No. I wonder if it'll be gone when we get back."

"So you're coming back? Not staying tucked away in the forest of the elves? No one there to bother you, you can read in peace."

"Peace and quiet is highly overrated."

Murtagh looked over, and met Arya's eyes, eyes that looked les old, for a moment. "We should rest. Cynical comments can wait until the morning."

"Of course, shurtugal," said Arya, demurely, and there was something about her tone (_sarcasam? _Was an elf being _sarcastic_?) that made Murtagh chuckle again.

"Good night, Arya."

"May your dreams be pleasant, Murtagh."

**I...can't...write…romance. Oh goddess. Ah well. Cynical Murtagh is amusing, at any rate. **


	11. In the Forest of the Elves

_Diamond Cut Diamond_

Chapter 11: In the Forest of the Elves

They reached Ellesmera before dark the next day. As Murtagh dismounted the dragon, he realized Arya has not exaggerated the beauty that was Du Weldan Varden. The great trees exuded a sense of majesty and peace. The leaves seemed to shimmer, infused with magic as they were.

The quiet, which at first disoriented Murtagh, settled on his shoulder comfortably.

Until Arya broke it.

"Gilderien will allow us passage. Do as I tell you to do."

Murtagh nodded, not even remembering to be offended.

They reached the elven caretaker after about a five minutes walk, Thorn carefully worming his way through the trees behind them.

"Show him your palm," said Arya.

Murtagh raised his hand, and the silent, hooded, elf spent an uncomfortably long time gazing at the gedway ignasia. Eventually, he raised his hands, allowing them passage.

"Why is he silent?" asked Murtagh, when they were out of earshot.

Arya shrugged. "He has been here since the first war. His ways are a mystery to most of us, but his dedication to protecting out city is known to us all."

"How could one man protect an entire city?" asked Murtagh.

"He keeps many wards around Ellesmera, and none enter without him knowing about it. But could he stop an army? Doubtful."

Murtagh nodded.

They walked in silence, and then Arya began talking, hardly seeming to realize she knew she was doing it.

"My mother isn't going to want me to be the elven representative. She doesn't want me to leave home, but more than that, she doesn't want me to have any power."

"You _are _in a very good place to usurp her," said Murtagh.

"And would I?" asked Arya, whipping her head around to face him. "Have I ever given the slightest indication—"

"No!" said Murtagh. "No, I never said that, nor did I ever say half the things I apparently say inside your head!"

Arya drew back and opened her mouth, ready to retort, but she paused for a moment.

"No," she said slowly. "No, I don't suppose you do. But isn't it a bit arrogant to assume you're in my head at all?"

"But I am. Don't talk to me in riddles, Arya. Is laughing when I can't understand you such a great pleasure?" Arya drew back at this, bearing an expression of indifference.

"It is not the fault of the riddler when you cannot understand the riddle."

"So I'm an idiot?" asked Murtagh. "A human idiot beneath the grand scope of your wisdom?"

"_No!_" said Arya with vehemence that surprised them both. "_No_, but think as if you were someone else for once. Perhaps the riddler is simply making it up as she goes along—asking questions to which there is no answer, and only hoping others will supply it."

Murtagh was silent for a moment, and then they were out of the woods, on a pathway, and Tiadari Hall was ahead of them.

Arya slowed her walk, and looked over her shoulder, as if seeing what options she had in terms of retreat. All at once, Murtagh's anger died of natural causes, and despite himself, his heart filled with pity for the elf.

"It'll be all right," he said, his voice echoed in his ears gruffly, making him wince. "It might not be easy, but it'll be all right."

Arya looked up at him, surprise registering in her green eyes.

"It will," said Murtagh, feeling a great drive to see relief in her eyes. "The sooner you get it over with, the better."

Arya nodded. Her face became unreadable again. "Sound advice, shurtugal."

The city was breathtaking. It had none of the bustle and noise of a human city. It had none of the dirt and smoke, none of the smells, none of the garbage. Murtagh, who had lived most of his life deep within the pulsating heart of a city found it both strange and wonderful.

He had never _heard _a place as quiet as this.

Arya stepped lightly, blending in perfectly to the scene.

_Not quite. She's not quite at home here. Which is odd, seeing as she's a princess. _

Murtagh was mesmerized by the buildings, or trees, or tree buildings, or building trees. There was no garish line between the construction and the natural, because they were one. It felt as if the entire place was in equilibrium with nature.

Except…

Arya, who Murtagh had expected to be at ease here, walked more stiffly than she had down the streets of Uru'baen.

"_Family. Why is it always family?" _

Thorn seemed to feel alive here. Murtagh could feel his excitement through their mental link, and whatever magic permeated the place was affecting the dragon strongly. Murtagh wondered briefly if he was acting any different than normal and ran a mental scan.

_I'm not talking more than I do normally. _

_I'm still distrustful of the elves._

_I've got my wards up. _

_Thorn's still here._

"_Murtagh. There's nothing different about you."_

"_How can I trust your word?" _asked Murtagh, sardonically. "_Your behavior is what made me begin to wonder."_

"_I'm only—"_

"_Are _you ready?"

Murtagh looked over at Arya. "Yes, I suppose. As I'll ever be." And then, against his better judgment, "Are you?"

Arya looked him in the eye, with a burning glare. "Do not presume to taunt me, _human_. I do not need your pity."

Murtagh found himself recoiling as if he'd been physically hit. The anger in her voice was nearly tangible, hot enough to freeze. Akin to boiling water—cold enough to burn; like snow.

Before he had a chance to shoot back a cutting response, to prove he wasn't hurt, to prove what she said didn't matter to him, she had pulled open the great doors of the hall and he was following her inside.

Murtagh barely noticed the hall.

"_Are you all right?"_

"_Of course."  
>"You don't sound it."<em>

"_Why wouldn't I be fine?"  
>"What <em>she _said_." Thorn then projected a series of images into Murtagh's mind.

"_Why would I care what some idiot _elf _says?"_

Concerned emanated from Thorn. "_What should I do?"_

Murtagh realized belatedly that Thorn couldn't have followed him through the doors, massive as they were.

"What would have you Thorn do?" he asked.

Arya looked over. "If it pleases him, tell him to wait outside."

"Shall I wait with him?" asked Murtagh.

"Do my mother the courtesy of making an appearance," said Arya.

They turned out of the rich hall, which Murtagh realized he had no memory of, through a door and into a room with a desk at which sat an elf who looked as beautiful as Arya, only older. Colder. Deadlier. Murtagh realized they had not been granted a throne room audience. They were in Izlanzadi's private office. What that meant, he could not tell, but it seemed uncharacteristic.

Beside him, Arya drew in a quick breath, and twisted her wrist to her chest.

"_May the stars watch over you_."

Murtagh attempted to copy her motions.

"_Why didn't she teach me this? Why didn't _Eragon_ teach me this?" _thought Murtagh, nettled.

Izlanzadi's voice was much more elven, much more alien, for a reason Murtagh could not identify.

"My daughter," she said, after they had finished the exchange. "You have finally returned. And you, shurtugal."

She cast a piercing gaze on Murtagh.

He returned it for a few, rebellious seconds. Then he remembered his purpose here and replied, "Your majesty," while still meeting her eyes.

"I never thought I would see you in this, the home of our royalty," said Izlanzadi. "Forgive me that you were not met with fanfare…but you will know why."

"I understand that I am hated among your people," said Murtagh.

"Do not take offense, rider," replied the queen. "It is the actions of the king, and Nasuada's meddling we despise, not you. But come! You must be weary from your journey. Arya will show you to the dragonhold, and we will discuss your reasons for being here tomorrow."

She twisted her hand at her chest once more, and sat back down at her desk.

Murtagh urge to be out of the room grew almost unbearably strong. He managed to wait for Arya before turning on his heel and walking out.

They walked in silence until they reached a path that turned away from the fantastic gardens outside Tialdari Hall.

"Congratulations," said Arya, icily. "You have created the hatred you feared so much."  
>"<em>I <em>created?" spluttered Murtagh. "_I _created! I wasn't the one who—she was as rude to me as a street urchin!"

"She was _testing_ you!" said Arya, in a voice that ought to have acutely expressed frustration at his stupidity.

"_Well then you should have mentioned she would do that!_" shouted Murtagh.

"_Lower your voice,_" hissed Arya.

"Why the hell should I?" asked Murtagh, refusing to whisper. "_Your _people are above our language, aren't you?" He heard his voice carry farther than he wanted it to. He wanted desperately to lower his voice, but that would be giving in.

"Do not be childish!" said Arya. She drew a deep breath. "She was _testing _you, Murtagh. I had no idea she was going to do it, but was it not _obvious_?"

"I'm an idiot, don't you remember?" he shot back.

"_Damn _it, Murtagh!" said Arya, surprising him with her use of profanity. "You're not unintelligent, _please_ don't act like it."

Murtagh stopped in his tracks. "By the demons above and below, Arya, what do you want? What do you want from me?" He realized his voice sounded tortured.

Arya sighed. "For once, don't respond from an emotional standpoint. You're being watched to see how you behave. And seeing what you did—"

"_I DIDN'T KILL HIM!_" shouted Murtagh. "Do you have _any_ idea what it's like to watch your hands _kill someone_? Do you have _any _idea?"

"I know that!" cried Arya, abandoning her forced calm. "_I know!_ But he died and it was by _your_ hand."

"So that's reason to treat me like dirt?"

"Murtagh, I never said it was right."

"Then _why_," said Murtagh, "are you antagonizing me?"

Arya drew in a breath, as if to offer a biting response. She seemed to change her mind, exhaled and looked at the ground.

"I suppose," she began carefully. "I expect you to rise to the occasion because I think you are above my mother. But it remains your choice whether or not you do."

And Murtagh had no idea how to respond to this.

"_Murtagh?"_

"_I don't know, Thorn, so don't ask me to explain."_

"Here," said Arya, "is where you will be staying. The highest room, which used to belong to Vrael, is yours, and you will be brought food. Tomorrow, at sunrise, I will come for you, and we will meet with assorted officials."

She turned on her heel, and then added, in an icy tone, "Good night."  
>Murtagh stood as he watched her walk away, and then pulled the door open.<p>

"_What was that about?"_

"_I was going to ask the same thing, Thorn."_

"_How would _I _know?"_

And on that note, he and Thorn made their way into the ancestral home of the dragon riders.

**I actually updated, so you should all like bow before me. **

**Evanesence2189 edited, so bow before her too. **


	12. Sunrise

_Diamond Cut Diamond_

Chapter 12: Sunrise

Murtagh awoke before the sun the next day. His dreams had been odd, full of bright colors that twisted fluidly from one insane scenario to another.

A few moments after he woke, he remembered nothing except extreme confusion.

"_Thorn?" _

The dragon was asleep, which didn't surprise Murtagh. The journey from Uru'baen had been a long one. He assessed the room, and realized there was a tray of food on one of the tables that he had either missed the previous night or been unaware of its arrival.

"_I will never understand elves._"

After eating, he glanced in the mirror that had seemed to goad him all morning.

"_If this is how I look, I don't blame them for being frightened."_

He looked haggard, unshaven, and his hair was sticking up wildly. Figuring he had time, he bathed, tamed his hair, and, surprised he could not find a razor, used the shaving spell he'd heard Eragon mutter one morning.

"_Poor boy can't even shave himself."_

Murtagh chuckled at the thought. In some rather glaring ways, Eragon was still a boy.

The clothes he found were simple, but of the softest fabric he had ever touched. Like everything else elves made, they were fairer than any human endeavor.

* * *

><p>Arya did not want to rise. She was momentarily thrown into confusion by the fact that she was in the room she'd had as a child. She looked around, everything wonderfully, horribly familiar. It felt comforting until she thought about how old she was.<p>

Before she could stop it, her mind rolled inexorably back to the previous night.

"_He's very human, Arya. So easily excitable."  
>"You insulted him, mother. You met with him in an office and treated him like a servant or worse."<em>

"_If he is so driven by his emotions, then he is not the great dragon rider many were expecting."_

"_He's also not the murderer they're expecting."_

"_I have no control over how people view his actions."  
>"They were not his actions. We, of all people, must know that."<em>

"_Still. But I am the one who should be insulted. As should you."_

"_I don't see the issue with caution."_

Her mother had given her a long look. Actually, her mother had given her several long, unreadable looks.

"_Nasuada should learn not to meddle."_

"_Her entire career has been based on meddling. Give her some time."_

"_You are so human, Arya."_

"_Is that an insult?"_

"_And you bristle like a porcupine. I suppose I should not be surprised, considering the fact that you have lived among humans so long."_

Wanting to physically hit her mother had always been a part of their relationship, but Arya was more incensed today than she had been in a long time.

"_And you have hidden in the woods for so long I should not be surprised at you prejudice. Did you not fight beside them? Were they so unworthy?" _

"_If you were anyone else, such a comment would have made you lose everything you ever hoped for."_

"_And because I am who I am, I will lose even more, yes?"_

Islanzadi's calm had frustrated Arya, but her anger became frankly frightening. She had brought her hand down on the desk, hard enough to shake it.

"_You are my daughter, Arya, but that does not mean you can answer me as if I were not queen of the elves."_

"_I am your daughter? That is certainly a recent change."  
><em>ISlanzadi's face had become stone.

"_Get out of my sight."_

And Arya had.

Now, she lay, staring up at the ceiling. What she had done had not just damaged her relationship with her mother but also her chances at becoming Ellesmera's representative in Nasuada's court.

She knew she was the best person for the job and many problems would arise if she did not take it, but she also knew that if she didn't do it, she had no idea what she _would _do. And that frightened Arya more than anything.

"_Damn it. Damn her, damn me, damn it all," _thought Arya.

And suddenly, she had the oddest of urges. Before she could second guess herself, she dressed and slipped out of her room and to the dragonhold.

* * *

><p>Murtagh looked surprised to her, but if he was still angry, he didn't show it.<p>

"Do you want to see the city?" she asked, after he greeted her. "We don't have to be anywhere until nine."

"How did you find that out?" asked Murtagh. "Your mother certainly didn't seem overly concerned about it.  
>"I spoke to her later on last night," said Arya.<p>

Murtagh cast her a searching look.

"No," she said. "It didn't go well; to answer the question you're debating on asking."

"What happened?" Murtagh sat down, and nodded to the chair in front of him. Arya was nonplussed.

"I took issue with her rudeness to you, and she took issue with what seems like everything about me. And—"

Arya's voice broke. "It is not easy to have a parent that does not love you. No matter what your feelings toward them, it is not easy."

Murtagh simply looked her in the eye and said, "I know."

And, in that moment, Arya realized that it was true, he _did _know. And that meant that, by extension, she was not the only one who had failed her parent so deeply.

"I—Murtagh, I thought I was the only one who had ever committed such an atrocity. All elves value children above all else. It is so, so—wrong, so offensive to anything natural to us for a parent not to be completely in love with their child. And I cannot, for all the world, understand what I did."

Murtagh shook his head. "I don't know your story. But you may have done nothing. What had I done?"

""Nothing," said Arya, in a small voice. "Nothing."

And in that moment, she realized he had to have suffered as much, if not more than she had. Her mother, she reflected, had never tried to kill her.

"By by the sun and stars, Murtagh, I am so sorry."

Murtagh blinked in surprise, and stared at Arya.

"You never deserved any of the hatred you have received. And rejection from a parent…"  
>"It makes you feel utterly worthless," said Murtagh.<p>

"You are not, though," said Arya.

"Nor," said Murtagh, "are you."

Arya reached forward and grasped his hand, hardly knowing what she was doing. It felt right in hers, and she immediately began learning all the details etched on his skin.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Thank _you_," he replied, holding her hand in both of his. "You have shown me more kindness than anyone now living."

"I apologize," said Arya, softly, "for the wrongs I have committed against you. I have said many things that were untrue—my only excuse is that I am still full of anger at so many things."

"You are forgiven. If you will forgive me for this."

And as the sun peeked up from beneath the horizon, Murtagh kissed Arya.

It was a gentle kiss, but the emotion behind it seemed to crash over Arya. Murtagh's arms wrapped around her, but rather than feeling trapped, she felt safer than she'd felt since she'd left Ellesmera so many years ago. He was human, but in that moment he had all the grace of an elf, to Arya. Every sense in her body took him in, and she felt herself melt.

Everything about him suddenly seemed perfect. Why had it taken her this long to notice?

It took her far too long to break away; enough look him in the eye but still keep his arms around her.

"Murtagh…" she breathed, savoring his name. "Oh, by whatever gods exist, I should not have allowed you to do that. But I am so glad that you did."

She stood up and pulled him into an embrace, letting herself enjoy the innocent contact with a person, the feeling of another warm body.

"We should go," he whispering. "We'll be late."

"I don't give a damn," said Arya.

But she did pull away.

"Shall we go?" asked Murtagh.

* * *

><p>Arya nodded, smiling, for what felt like the first time in a century.<p>

All the way to Tialdari Hall, Thorn berated Murtagh with questions.

"_Does this mean you're going to live with her? Mate with her? Will we stay here?"_

"_I don't know what it means, Thorn. Don't jump to any conclusions."_

"_You're happy."_

"_I'm very happy."_

"_I'm glad."_

Thorn's contentment radiated through Murtagh, only making him happier.

This time, Islanzadi was in the throne room, and she let Murtagh, Arya, and Thorn approach and greet her before so much as looking up at them.

"Arya, you may leave," said Islanzadi. "Your duty to Nasuada has been completed."

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Arya, in a voice that Murtagh had never heard her use, the voice of a young person vying for approval.

"So," she said. "You want to know what to expect, I suppose."

"Yes," said Murtagh, forcing himself to add "Your Majesty."

"I would also desire some answers from you."

"If I can, I will enlighten you," replied Murtagh.

"Do not play games," said Islanzadi. "You will lose."

"I had no such intentions," said Murtagh, placidly.  
>"<em>Do you want me to deal with her?" <em>asked Thorn.

"_She wants me to get angry, and I'm not going to give her what she wants," _said Murtagh. "_Be civil, if you have to talk to her."_

"Then please explain what Nasuada expects you to do."  
>"She wants me to observe you political process so that she may understand how it works. She also wishes for me to be here as her representative, so that her view on the matter can be given.<p>

"Her view is needed on our government?"

"Since you are electing someone who will have dealings with us, Nasuada has an interest in what will happen.

"She wants Arya to win, because Arya is half under her jurisdiction."

"I can't say who she would like to win."

"Do you know?" asked Islanzadi.

"_She should know better than to try to fool you," _said Thorn. "_Considering your experience_"  
>"I couldn't say," said Murtagh.<p>

"Well then. What are you intending to do, if Arya does not win?"

"I assume I will accept whoever wins," said Murtagh

"You assume."

"I do."

Islanzadi shifted in her throne.

"My instructions," said Murtagh, deciding to give Islanzadi part of what she'd wanted, because monarchs generally wanted to win, "were to speak my piece supporting Arya at the beginning on the meeting, as I understand procedure is."

"It is not usual for an outsider to speak," said Islanzadi, "but it is not against protocol."

"Then things will go smoothly, I hope."

"They will. Now, the meeting will be held at sundown tonight in the Great Hall, Arya will show you where. I am afraid Thorn will not be able to fit through the door, but you may position yourself outside, skulblaka. You have my apologies for the inconvenience. There will be many speeches, by each candidate, and then as many as five people may speak for them. Then the voting will commence, by silent ballot. Only the council may vote, and no one may be in the room but them. Results will be given tomorrow."

"Many thanks, your majesty," said Murtagh.

"You are dismissed," said Islanzadi. As he turned she, added, "What is it humans say? May the best win?"

"Indeed we do," said Murtagh, and he followed Thorn out.

**I DID IT! I wrote romance! Feedback, please. Pleasepleaseplease. **


	13. How Much?

Diamond Cut Diamond

Chapter Thirteen: How Much?

Arya was nowhere to be found outside in the Hall. Murtagh searched the gardens and then realized she had probably gone to her own rooms.

"_You could probably find them," _said Thorn.

"_I've pushed my luck too far already today."_

"_Look for her mind."_

"_Someone would notice. I'm trying to be inconspicuous."_

Slight disbelief emanated from Thorn.

"_I can be inconspicuous. It's not my fault the world has an interest in me."_

"_I think it's me they're interested in. I _am _a dragon."_

"_Well, there is that."_

Murtagh wondered what kind of objections could be raised if he wandered around the city.

"_As long as we don't destroy anything, we should be fine."_

"_You never know," _thought Murtagh, wryly. "_Don't step on any flowers._"

* * *

><p>In all fairness, Murtagh had thought he was walking into a grove of trees not someone's house. The elf, who was sitting in what was either very chairlike tree or a very treelike chair by the stream, looked up.<p>

"May the stars watch over you," he said. You could almost have said his voice had a drawl.

Murtagh jumped. Adrenaline coursed through his veins.

"May good fortune rule over you," he said. "I'm sorry. I thought this was part of the forest."

"It is," replied the elf. "Everything is 'part of the forest' here."

Annoyance coursed through Murtagh. "I'll leave you—my apologies for breaking and entering."

The elf smiled. "There is no need to apologize. You couldn't have known."

Murtagh didn't like the elf's tone, he didn't like what the elf was insinuating, and he didn't like the sardonic smile the elf wore.

But he knew enough to nod courteously.

"Of course, our city is not anything you could be used to," the elf added.  
>"Indeed it is not," said Murtagh. He considered adding something about how pleasant he found it, but he didn't think he could stomach flattery. Civility was hard enough.<p>

"Are you as arrogant as your half-brother?" asked Vanir. "And will I be forced to train you too?"

"I have no need of training," said Murtagh. "And I do not think myself arrogant. But I think myself your equal."

The elf's lips curved again. "That makes you both arrogant and delusional."

Murtagh turned to leave.

"Wise."

Murtagh had long ago learned that the way to insult someone was not with words, but with a lack of attention. He mastered his temper—which was also something he had learned at a young age, and walked out of the elf's "front door" as he now recognized two trees to be.

The elf did not pursue him, but Murtagh felt sure that that conflict was not over yet.

He walked, trying to calm himself. He wanted to leave, but he couldn't leave, not ever, because of _Arya_. All of this, all of the condescending looks, the smooth elven voices with laughter barely concealed behind them, it was all worth it because _she _was here.

There were paths, and lack of paths that eventfully became paths again, and Murtagh soon found himself lost.

Thorn sent him rough images of where he was.

"_Thanks. And how long, exactly…" _

"_You've got about an hour to think of her before you have to go to the election."_

"_Right. What if she doesn't win?"_

"_Nasuada said to speak your piece, but there wasn't much you could do if she lost."_

"_I'm sure if there was she would have made me swear to do it…Nasuada's a consummate leader; she'll do whatever it takes to win."_

"_She's done much good."_

"_Indeed she has…much good, with a ruthless hand. Oh, but the legends that will be sung. And how odd, I will be here to hear them."_

"_Of course you will be_," said Thorn. "_Why wouldn't you?"_

Murtagh walked on, mindful only enough to keep form walking into trees.

And then there was a grove, in which there was a fountain, beside which there was a bench, on which there was Arya.

She was barefoot and wore loose, light green trousers and a white shirt that flowed over her frame. He hair was loose. He hadn't often seen it that way, he supposed it wasn't practical. But now, it flowed over her shoulders and down her back, and hung over the water that she was bending over.

She realized he was there immediately, of course. She was an elf, with supernatural senses. But when she looked up, surprise was written all over her face, and he realized that for once, she had no idea what to say.

What she did end up saying was simply, "Murtagh."

"Your mother isn't very happy with me," said Murtagh, sitting next to her.

"She is never happy," said Arya. "Not, I think, since I took up the duties of egg-courier. Or perhaps it was even longer ago she became as hard as stone, perhaps it was with my father's death."

Murtagh shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps—"

"But why should I trouble you with any of it?" asked Arya.

She looked at him, her head cocked to the side, her mouth slightly open, and then bit her lip.

"Murtagh, what do you want from me?"

Murtagh frowned. "Do you honestly think I am that low?"

Arya shook her head. "I should not have said that."

"But you did. And I—" he stopped, frustrated. "I don't want you for anything other than yourself—do Elves understand the concept of love?"

"_I shouldn't have, oh by the gods, I don't care, I love her, there's nothing wrong with loving her." _

Arya opened her mouth slightly. "You love me? You honestly love me?"

And in her eyes, there was a longing.

"Yes," said Murtagh taking her hand in his. "Yes. I do."

Arya was silent for a moment and then said softly. "How much of me do you love, though?"

Murtagh opened his mouth to ask why she would ask such a nonsensical question, but she plowed onward.

"Do you love my pretty face, my body, the satisfaction I would give you, the prestige of having conquered an elf? But not, perhaps, the nightmares I would scream myself awake from every night, my fear of being touched or held, my past, my shame, my family, my race! How much of me do you 'love,' dragon rider?"

Murtagh drew back from her voice, which was laden with venom. Her hand now held his in a vice, and when he met her eyes, they were wide and seemed full of fear.

"Arya—Arya, whatever your past is, I don't care—would I have any room to complain?"  
>"But would you tire of me, of my psychosis, of my mother, of everything that comes back to me in dreams?"<p>

Arya seemed unable to stop.

"No," said Murtagh. "No, damn it! I want you, and phantoms from the past aren't going to change that. Look at my past! Look at my family! Do you hate me for it?"

"No," said Arya, and her voices had the choked quality of held-back tears, "No, I could never hate you. I—I love you. Oh, Murtagh, it's been so long since I've said those words. I nearly forgot what they meant."

Murtagh reached to embrace her, and only when she exhaled after a few seconds in his arms, did he realize she'd been holding her breath.

* * *

><p>They returned to Tialdari Hall together, not speaking. Only at the doors did Murtagh turned to Arya and say, "The best of luck," which he knew was feeble.<p>

Arya smiled, then pushed open the door.

Islanzadi was waiting for them the great hall, which was what everyone called the room where all the most important meetings were held. The council of twelve elves who functioned as a congress was there as well. When Arya and Murtagh entered, everyone rose.

"Welcome," she said. "To the council, I would like to introduce Arya Drottingu, ambassador to Nasuada, and Murtagh Morzansson, Dragon Rider. To you," she nodded to Murtagh and Arya, "I would like to introduce the Council of Elves, Vaerna, the current Head, Glendar, his Second in Command, Ayala, the Minister of Defense—"

Murtagh felt his attention slipping back to Arya, how she had felt, her eyes, her lips against his, the scent of her hair…

"Faevern, Minister of Magical Affairs—"

The shape of her body, how he had never wanted to let her go, to simply sit in the grove forever, Arya in his arms…

"And Arad, Secretary."

As one, the council and Islanzadi twisted their hands at their chests, and Murtagh and Arya responded in kind.

"Sit, please," said Islanzadi.

The entire conversation had gone on in the Ancient Language. Murtagh wished he was more proficient at it. He assumed Islanzadi would be glad he was uncomfortable.

"Let it be recorded that the meeting has come to order, and let the names of those present be laid down," said Arad.

A quill scratched across parchment laid out on the table.

"_What magic is this?_" thought Murtagh. He began mentally composing a spell that would accomplish the recording, but was distracted by Islanzadi.

"Murtagh has been sent by Nasuada to oversee our election and to speak on Arya's behalf," said Islanzadi.

All eyes in the room turned to Murtagh. Carefully avoiding Arya's gaze, he nodded. He stood up, feeling clumsy as his chair scraped the floor. The speech he gave was Nasuada's, memorized word for word. He attempted to keep his voice calm and friendly, and make eye contact with all of the Elves assembled.

"I've been ordered here by Nasuada, who is now acting leader of Alagaesia. As a nation, the representatives for each region, along with the representatives for the Dwarven and Urgal nations support Arya Drottingu as the Elven Representative to Nasuada's council. The decision was based on several facts.

"Firstly, Arya has much experience with other races, due to her activities with the Varden. She understands their culture, and because of her presence during the reforming of Alagaesian government, she understands the new system of legislation. Secondly, she is a well-known figure in the Elven world and as such, would understand the needs of her home nation well. This would allow her to communicate said needs to the council. Thirdly, she has proved herself many times during the war. She was a steadfast ally of the Varden and we hope she will be a valuable addition to our government. Does anyone," He paused and looked around the room, "have any questions?"

Murtagh winced as he delivered the last line. It seemed condescending, and he realized Nasuada had forgotten to pander to the gigantic superiority complex most Elves seemed to have. He would have to do so in his answers.

Arya said: "I thank Nasuada for her support. I will try my best to live up to her expectations, if I am elected."

An elf with silver hair asked, "Does Nasuada know any of the other candidates?"

"Yes, she reviewed a list sent to her by the Elven Council at length," said Murtagh.

"Did she have a second choice?" asked the elf.

Murtagh considered for a split second. "No, though she did state that any of the candidates would perform admirably."

He attempted to gauge the Elf's reactions, but was, as usual, unable.

"And does Nasuada know much of our politics?" asked a female elf. "Such as the consequences of a _drottingu _holding another position of authority?"

"Nasuada has a fairly in depth understanding for your system of government," said Murtagh. "She has taken into consideration such conflicts as might occur and believes Arya able to overcome them and make the choices best for both parties."

There was silence, and Murtagh waited, counting to ten mentally. If someone didn't ask him anything else by then—

Islanzadi broke in at five. "If no one else has any questions, we can continue."

There were noises of assent, and Islanzadi said, "Now, I present our first candidate, Livaren, who is…"

And thus the meeting continued. Each candidate spoke for themselves, with speeches that were far too long for Murtagh's liking. The common thread, he noticed, was proclaiming an ability to communicate with humans, and very thinly veiled assertions of being more intelligent and thus able to manipulate them. He began to realize exactly how many problems there would be if Arya's victory was not secure.

Not the least of which would be his lack of excuses to see her.

After four elves had presented themselves, Arya rose. Murtagh glanced at Islanzadi, but the queen showed no sign of displeasure at her daughter.

"I stand before the Council. In the hopes of being elected as representative to Nasuada's court," said Arya. He voice was steady and calm, and unlike Murtagh, she met his eyes during her scan of the room. "I believe, in unvarnished honesty, that I am the best for the task. I understand what it entails, and believe it to be work that I can excel at. The main reason for my belief is simple: I do not consider myself superior to humans. I acknowledge and accept the differences between races, but I do not consider one superior to the other. This, I believe, is my strength. Because I do not hold myself above humans, I will be compassionate to their affairs. Because of my loyalty to my own race, I will look out for Elven interests.

"I understand the horrors of war, and am thus prepared to defend our land form it. I am skilled at negotiations between many races, illustrated by my presence during the reforming of the government of Alagaesia. I am the desired choice of the humans, and of the Dwarves, and of the Urgals. I could do much good, if chosen. Thus, my plea to you. If I am elected, I will preserve peace through equality. I will give my best effort to my task, and I ask for it in good faith."

She twisted her wrist at her chest, as all the other had done, and sat down.

Two more elves followed, and then Islanzadi said, "All candidates may leave, and the voting will commence. In an hour, we will have results."

Murtagh followed the elves out the door, and when he turned down the path that would lead him to the dragonhold, Arya followed.

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><p><strong>I'm very proud of this chapter, dry Elven politics included. Give me brutal feedback, please and thanks. I wuv you all. <strong>


	14. Need

**_Diamond Cut Diamond_**

**Chapter 14: Need**

Arya was silent. She allowed herself to watch Murtagh, registering every move. She had allowed herself to accept that she loved everything about the man and was now drinking every bit of him in.

But she was still afraid. She tried to tell herself she was not, her rational mind told her she had nothing to fear, but there was an undercurrent of terror that flowed in her subconscious. He was capable of hurting her just as she had been hurt so many times before. Arya shoved such thoughts deep down in her mind. They were still there though, and occasionally lapped at the shores of her mind, chilling her ever so slightly.

"There's no sense in going anywhere, the results will be back soon" said Murtagh, sitting down rather gracelessly on a bench in front of yet another fountain. This one was much more elaborate though, with five tiers of flowing water and intricate designs.

Arya sat beside him and fidgeted with her hands, wanting to touch him in some way.

"Do you think your mother would sabatoge the vote?" asked Murtagh.

"No," said Arya, shaking her head. "She wouldn't have the power—and she doesn't count the votes."

Murtagh looked satisfied. "What will you do if you're not elected?"

Arya shrugged. "I won't stay here," she said. "Nasuada will find a use for me. But talk of something else. It only makes my nerves worse," said Arya. "I've staked too much on this job."

"Like what?" asked Murtagh.

"Besides the practical reasons for wanting it, there's nothing else to do. I never knew if I was going to live through the war or not, so I never risked plans. Now I wish I had made some."

"I know the feeling," said Murtagh, with a bitter laugh. "But another subject…Jarnunvosk's eldunari. What of it, do you think?"

"There are so many questions attatched to it," said Arya. "How it was saved—I begin to think of necromancy! Why the Ra'zac chose to keep it—and what's to be done about it?"

"I wonder if it—she will want to continue existing," mused Murtagh.

"I don't know," said Arya. "After all those years in Helgrind and after such a loss, I don't know."

"One can exist after living through hell," said Murtagh. "We're doing it."

Arya nodded and then asked, "When do we leave?"

"Nasuada expects us the day after tomorrow. Will everything be sorted by then?"

"It should be," said Arya. "If I am elected, I'll spend most of tomorrow in meetings. Then I relay most of what I've learned to Nasuada."

Murtagh fidgeted for a moment, and then put his arm around Arya.

"Whatever happens, it'll be all right," he said.

"I wish that were true," said Arya. She seemed tense for a moment, but then relaxed into his embrace. She twisted her neck to look him in the eye. "Murtagh, I don't feel as if I have a purpose anymore. And if I'm not to have this vocation, what _am _I to have?"

"I don't know," said Murtagh. "That's up to you."

"That's a more optimistic way to look at it than I've seen," said Arya.

"I suppose I'm seeing it through my eyes. The end of the war left me master of my own fate for nearly the first time."

"What plans have you?" asked Arya.

"I was hoping to teach at the school Eragon wants to start," said Murtagh. "But honestly, I'll do anything if I can be with you."

Arya smiled. "You sound like a poet. I never thought you'd be so eloquent—but then again, it seems I'm always finding more of your virtues."

Murtagh chuckled. "You're alone in that, I think," he said.

Arya ignored him. "And there's another—how you when you smile. I wish you did it more."

"If you keep up with your flattery, I will."

Instead, Arya kissed him.

Every nerve in her body was alive with both fear and want. He was gentle with her and did not force her to deepen the kiss, for which Arya was grateful.

When she pulled away from him, he met her eyes.

"You are," he said thoughtfully, "absolutely beautiful."

Arya blushed. "If someone had told you that you'd be saying that a few months ago, you'd have laughed in their face."

Murtagh shook his head. He was about to reply, when Arya said: "Come on, let's make our way back."

* * *

><p>She lost. Arya knew she shouldn't have been so distraught, but she had to restrain herself from crying. One of the older Elves had beaten her. It was fair, and he would have been her second choice, but Arya was still in despair.<p>

She reached for Murtagh's hand after Islanzadi read the verdict, and Murtagh took it, whispering, "I'm sorry."

Her mother caught her eye, and lifted her chin regally. As if to say, "_I won. I will always win._"

Murtagh pulled Arya away, and she knew that if he hadn't, she might have burst into tears.

* * *

><p>He brought her to the dragonhold, because he would have has to pass Islanzadi to get to Tialdari Hall. The look in the queen's eye had incensed him. He felt sure that she had had much to do with Arya's loss.<p>

Personally, Murtagh took the verdict in stride, but he knew it meant more to Arya than a job. She now had no idea where she was going or what she was doing. And whether or not she admitted it, she was hurt by her mother's actions.

"Arya, it'll be all right—" he began, but she put up a hand.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said.

And then, she surprised him by pressing her lips to his, much more ardently than ever before.

They forgot the vote, they forgot the verdict, they forgot anything and everything besides each other.

Arya seemed to have changed drastically. Where she had been shy and modest, she was now bold enough to strip off her shirt (under which she wore something light and gossamer.) Where she had seemed afraid to initiate anything, she was now demanding. She knelt on him, kissing his neck and chest, shoving her hair out of her way in uncharacteristic desperation.

Murtagh was too enamored with everything about her to recognize the doubt in the back of his mind. He drew her into an embrace, and his hands were ghotsting up her sides when—

Arya shoved him, hard. She backed up into the center of the room, her eyes flitting form side to side.

"Arya, what the hell? What's—"

"Stop, don't touch me," said Arya, her words coming out so fast they jumbled together.

"All right!"

Murtagh put up his hands and met her eyes. "Arya, what's the matter?" He softened his voice, and wished he could calm her, but he was too afraid to make any movements. His mind was drawing inexorably to a conclusion that he hoped wasn't true.

Arya was shaking, and she held out a hand, her fingers splayed out. "Don't touch me. You can't—I'm as strong as you are. You can't force me to do _anything_."

"Hell, Arya, I'm sorry," said Murtagh. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want."

Arya's hands were now clenched into fists by her sides; she was obviously trying to stop herself from shaking.

"I know," she said, through her teeth. "I think I know. I don't know what I know."

"Arya," said Murtagh, softly. "Arya, please. Come sit and tell me what this is about."

"You're going to hate me," said Arya, her voice suddenly small. "Or worse, you'll _pity_ me. You already pity me."

Murtagh longed to hold her, to somehow soothe her, but he knew that would only make her terror worse.

"You'll be disgusted with me," said Arya, "You won't want to look at me, let alone touch me. Oh, damn, I didn't mean—but it was like—

She stopped at look a deep breath. Her lips began to move, silently, and Murtagh read them as best he could. She seemed to be counting.

"Arya," he said. "I won't hurt you. Just talk to me. Come on, we can sit over here."

He walked over to one of the chairs, giving her a wide berth. He hoped the table in between then was enough distance for Arya.

It appeared to be, because she walked, slowly, over to the chair opposite him and sat down, her legs pressed together, her hands clenched in her lap. She was still counting.

Murtagh rested his forearms on his knees. "Arya. Arya, I'm so sorry."

Arya looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "_I was there_," she whispered, hoarsely. "It was like I was there again."

"Where?" asked Murtagh, though he knew. "Gilead?"

Arya nodded mutely. "I lied. I lied to everyone. I came so close to telling Eragon, and then I lied. I couldn't bear it. What they would have thought, what their eyes would have looked like."

"I know what they did to you, Arya," said Murtagh, in a low voice. "I know. I should never have done what I did."

Anguish spread over Arya's face. "See? You are repulsed by me!"

"No," said Murtagh. "No, Arya, I should have known you wouldn't want it. Not now, after how your mother treated you, and you lost and everything—"

"I do want you!" cried Arya, her tears spilling over her eyelids onto her cheeks. "But I felt like I was back there in that cell with no sun and no air and Murtagh, I was there so long, I thought I would die there. He told them they could u—use me as they would and _I told Eragon that I was able to fend them off_! How the hell could I, I was drugged out of my mine and beaten a few times a day! It was all I could do to sit up and eat. And he—he had me too, the bastard. When Eragon stabbed his heart, I was so goddamn happy. I only wish it had been me who had killed him, I would have enjoyed it!"

Murtagh opened his mouth to speak, trying to formulate some comforting words around the string of curses that was running through his mind. He couldn't remember ever being this angry before. But Arya couldn't seem to stop.

"All I could think, for months and months was 'why?' And then I stopped asking because I didn't give a damn anymore. I wanted to die. I remember it all so clearly, I wish I could forget. I remember how cold I was; they'd take my clothes for days on end and left me naked on the stone floor, I was so cold, and they laughed. They laughed and then bargained for who got me next, I remember hearing them argue about whose turn it was. Oh, by the gods, why can't I forget?"

Murtagh quelled the desire to break something. He took a deep breath and leaned forward. "Arya, it's going to be all right. I'm not going to hurt you. Can I touch you? Just to hold your hands?"

Arya nodded, and held out her hands. Murtagh stroked his thumbs back and forth over her knuckles, attempting to calm her.

"I'm so sorry, Arya. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Arya choked out. "I should never have taken it out on you. But I can't let you touch me like that, I can't, it makes me sick. Not you," she added hurriedly. "But anyone. And me. I make myself sick. I feel like I'm filthy and I'll never be clean again."

"There's nothing wrong with you," said Murtagh, through his teeth. "It's those pieces of shit that—Arya, look at me—"

She did look at him, tears streaming down her face.

"I love you so much, damn it, Arya, I'm so sorry."

He gripped her hands in his, and Arya began to sob.

Every impulse in Murtagh's mind wanted to hold her, hold her and never let her go, but he knew it would only make things worse. He forced himself to stop crushing her hands, and he shoved his anger, which was rolling through his mind like a tidal wave, down, away, to be dealt with later.

Arya was shaking, and she held on to him as if she were drowning.

"I s-shouldn't burden you w-with this," she choked. "You d-don't deserve it."

"You didn't deserve it," said Murtagh.

Her sobs became softer; slowly they faded enough so she could talk. "I thought I could manage—but it just all came back, and I panicked. Like I did the first time—I screamed, I fought like an animal. Does that count?"

"Count for what?" asked Muragh. Bewildered.

"It means I wasn't asking for it, doesn't it?" said Arya, miserably.

"Demons above and below Arya, no one in their right mind would say you asked for any of it!"

"_He _always said—"

"I don't give a damn!"

Arya looked up at him. "Can I—can I sit with you, please?"

"Of course, Arya, come here."

She slowly made her way to sit beside him.

"Can I?" he asked, as he tentatively put an arm around her shoulders.

"Yes," said Arya. She relaxed, slightly, and lay back against him.

"I won't hurt you," said Murtagh. "I will never force anything on you. I promise, Arya."

As an afterthought, he switched to the Ancient Language. "I'll never do anything to you that you don't want, Arya. I swear."

Arya appeared startled. Then she whispered. "I know how much that means. Thank you, Murtagh."

"It's nothing to swear to something I would do anyway," said Murtagh. "Bound by the Ancient Language or no, I would never hurt you."

"I love you," whispered Arya. "Oh, how I love you. I'm so sorry I can't be the woman you deserve."

"You're the woman I want," said Murtagh. "Just tell me what you need."

"Right now, just this," said Arya.

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><p><strong>I dunno, man. I dunno. Feedback, por favor. <strong>


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